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GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

,GHOST-STORIES OF
AN ANTIQUARY

MONTAGUE RHODES JAMEsl Litt.D.

Fbllow op King's Collbgb, Cambridgb

WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE LATE

JAMES MCBRYDE

SECOND IMPRESSION

LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD

41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, BOND STREET, W.

[Ail fights reserved'^

:iiH'f^.^o

HARVARD COLLEGE UBRARY

BEQUEST OF

WINWAHD PRESCOTT

JANUARY 27, 1933

THESE STORIES

ARE DEDICATED

TO ALL THOSE WHO AT VARIOUS TIMES

HAVE LISTENED TO THEM

PREFACE

I WROTE these stories at long intervals, and
most of them were read to patient friends,
usually at the season of Christmas. One of
these friends offered to illustrate them, and
it was agreed that, if he would do that, I
would consider the question of publishing
them. Four pictures he completed, which
will be found in this volume, and then, very
quickly and unexpectedly, he was taken away.
This is the reason why the greater part of the
stories are not provided with illustrations.
Those who knew the artist will understand
how much I wished to give a permanent
form even to a fragment of his work ; others
will appreciate the fact that here a remem-
brance is made of one in whom many friend-
ships centred.

• •
Vll

viii PREFACE

The stories themselves do not make any-
very exalted claim. If any of them succeed
in causing their readers to feel pleasantly
imcomfortable when walking along a solitary
road at nightfall, or sitting over a dying fire
in the smaU hours, my purpose in writing
them will have been attained.

Two of them — ^the first two in the volume
— have appeared in print in the National
Review and the Pall Mall Magazine respec-
tively, and I wish to thank the Editors of
those periodicals for kindly allowing me to

republish them here.

M. R. JAMES.

King's College, Cambridge^
Allhallows' Even, 1904.

CONTENTS

PAOX

CANON ALBERIC'^S SCBAP-BOOK - - - 1

jk JJ08T HEARTS - - - - - 29

THE MEZZOTINT - - - - - 63

THE ASH-TREE - - - - - 81

-^ NUMBER 13 . - - - - 113

COUNT MAGNUS - - - - . 149

(£) * OH, WHISTLE, AND I'lX COME TO YOU, MY LAD ' - 181

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS - - 9Stl

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAOB

THE ENGLISHMAN WAS TOO DEEP IN HIS NOTE-BOOK
TO GIVE MORE THAN AN OCCASIONAL GLANCE AT

THE SACRISTAN - - - frontispiece

A HAND LIKE THE HAND IN THAT PICTURE tofoce S6
LOOKING UP IN AN ATTITUDE OF PAINFUL

ANXIETY - - - - „ 204

IT LEAPT TOWARDS HIM UPON THE INSTANT „ 222

CANON ALBERIC'S SCRAP-BOOK

GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

CANON ALBERIC'S SCRAP-BOOK

St. Bertrand de Comminges is a decayed
town on the spurs of the Pyrenees, not very
far from Toulouse, and still nearer to Bagn^res-
de-Luchon. It was the site of a bishopric
until the Revolution, and has a cathedral
which is visited by a certain number of tourists.
In the spring of 1883 an Englishman arrived
at this old-world place — I can hardly dignify
it with the name of city, for there are not a
thousand inhabitants. He was a Cambridge
man, who had come specially from Toulouse
to see St. Bertrand's Church, and had left
two friends, who were less keen archaeologists
than himself, in their hotel at Toulouse,
imder promise to join him on the following

3 1—2

4 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

morning. Half an hour at the church
would satisfy them^ and all three could then
pursue theu* journey in the direction of
Auch. But our Englishman had come early
on the day in question, and proposed to him-
self to fill a note-book and to use several
dozens of plates in the process of describing
and photographing every comer of the wonder-
ful church that dominates the little hill of
Comminges. In order to carry out this design
satisfactorily, it was necessary to monopolize
the verger of the church for the day.
The verger or sacristan (I prefer the latter
appellation, inaccurate as it may be) was
accordingly sent for by the somewhat brusque
lady who keeps the inn of the Chapeau Rouge ;
and when he came, the Englishman found him
an unexpectedly interesting object of study.
It was not in the personal appearance of the
little, dry, wizened old man that the interest
lay, for he was precisely like dozens of other
church-guardians in France, but in a curious
furtive, or rather hunted and oppressed, air
which he had. He was perpetually half

CANON ALBERICTS SCRAP-BOOK 6

glancing behind him ; the muscles of his back
and shoulders seemed to be hunched in a
continual nervous contraction, as if he were
expecting every moment to find himself in the
clutch of an enemy. The Englishman hardly
knew whether to put him down as a man
haimted by a fixed delusion, or as one oppressed
by a guilty conscience, or as an unbearably
henpecked husband. The probabilities, when
reckoned up, certainly pointed to the last idea ;
but, still, the impression conveyed was that
of a more formidable persecutor even than a
termagant wife.

However, the Englishman (let us call him
Dennistoun) was soon too deep in his note-
book and too busy with his camera to give
more than an occasional glance to the sacristan.
Whenever he did look at him, he found him at
no great distance, either huddling himself back
against the wall or crouching in one of the
gorgeous stalls. Dennistoun became rather
fidgety after a time. Mingled suspicions that
he was keeping the old man from his dejeuner y
that he was regarded as likely to make away

6 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

with St. Bertrand's ivory crozier, or with the
dusty stuffed crocodile that hangs over the
font, began to torment him.

* Won't you go home V he said at last ; ^ I'm
quite well able to finish my notes alone ; you
can lock me in if you like. I shall want at
least two hours more here, and it must be cold
for you, isn't it ?'

^ Good heavens !' said the little man, whom
the suggestion seemed to throw into a state of
imaccountable terror, ^ such a thing cannot be
thought of for a moment. Leave monsieur
alone in the church ? No, no ; two hours,
three hours, all will be the same to me. I
have breakfasted, I am not at all cold, with
many thanks to monsieur.'

^ Very well, my little man,' quoth Dennis-
toun to himself: *you have been warned,
and you must take the consequences.'

Before the expiration of the two hours, the
stalls, the enormous dilapidated organ, the
choir-screen of Bishop John de Maul^on, the
remnants of glass and tapestry, and the objects
in the treasure-chamber, had been well and

CANON ALBERIC'S SCRAP-BOOK 7

truly examined ; the sacristan still keeping at
Dennistoun's heels, and every now and then
whipping round as if he had been stung, when
one or other of the strange noises that trouble
a large empty building fell on his ear. Curious
noises they were sometimes.

* Once,' Dennistoun said to me, * I could
have sworn I heard a thin metallic voice
laughing high up in the tower. I darted
an inquiring glance at my sacristan. He
was white to the lips. "It is he — that is —
it is no one ; the door is locked," was all he
said, and we looked at each other for a fall
minute.'

Another little incident puzzled Dennistoun
a good deal. He was examining a large dark
picture that hangs behind the altar, one of a
series illustrating the miracles of St. Bertrand.
The composition of the picture is well-nigh
indecipherable, but there is a Latin legend
below, which runs thus :

^Qualiter S. Bertrandus liberavit hominem quern
diabolus diu volebat strangulare.^ (How St. Bertrand
delivered a in€ui whom the Devil long sought to
strangle.)

8 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

Dennistoun was turning to the sacristan with
a smile and a jocular remark of some sort on
his Ups, but he was confounded to see the old
man on his knees, gazing at the picture with
the eye of a suppliant in agony, his hands
tightly clasped, and a rain of tears on his
cheeks. Dennistoun naturally pretended to have
noticed nothing, but the question would not
away from him, ' Why should a daub of this
kind affect anyone so strongly T He seemed
to himself to be getting some sort of clue to
the reason of tlie strange look that liad been
puzzling him all the day : the man must be a
monomaniac ; but what was his monomania 1

It was nearly five o'clock ; the short da]
was drawing in, and the church began to fill
with shadows, while the curious noises — the
muffled footfalls and distant talking voices
that had been perceptible all day — seemed, m
doubt because of the fading light and th(
consequently quickened sense of hearing,
become more frequent and insistent.

The sacristan began for the first time
show signs of hurry and impatience. Hi

11 I

CANON ALBERICS SCRAP-BOOK 9

heaved a sigh of relief when camera and note-
book were finaUy packed up and stowed away,
and hurriedly beckoned Dennistoun to the
western door of the church, under the tower.
It was time to ring the Angelus. A few pulls
at the reluctant rope, and the great bell Ber-
trande, high in the tower, began to speak, and
swung her voice up among the pines and down
to the valleys, loud with mountain-streams,
calling the dwellers on those lonely hills to
remember and repeat the salutation of the
angel to her whom he called Blessed among
women. With that a profound quiet seemed
to fall for the first time that day upon the
little town, and Dennistoun and the sacristan
went out of the church.

On the doorstep they fell into conversation.

* Monsieur seemed to interest himself in the
old choir-books in the sacristy.'

* Undoubtedly. I was going to ask you if
there were a library in the town.'

*No, monsieur; perhaps there used to be
one belonging to the Chapter, biit it is now
such a small place ' Here came a strange

10 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

pause of irresolution, as it seemed ; then, with
a sort of plunge, he went on : * But if mon-
sieur is amateur des vieiLX livres, I have at
home something that might interest him. It
is not a himdred yards.'

At once all Dennistoun's cherished dreams
of finding priceless manuscripts in untrodden
comers of France flashed up, to die down again
the next moment. It was probably a stupid
missal of Plantin's printing, about 1580.
Where was the likelihood that a place so
near Toulouse would not have been ransacked
long ago by collectors ? However, it would
be foolish not to go ; he would reproach him-
self for ever after if he refiised. So they set
off. On the way the curious irresolution and
sudden determination of the sacristan recurred
to Dennistoun, and he wondered in a shame-
faced way whether he was being decoyed into
some purlieu to be made away with as a
supposed rich Englishman. He contrived,
therefore, to begin talking with his guide, and
to drag in, in a rather clumsy fashion, the
fact that he expected two friends to join him

CANON ALBERICS SCRAP-BOOK 11

early the next morning. To his surprise, the
announcement seemed to relieve the sacristan

at once of some of the anxiety that oppressed
him.

* That is well,' he said quite brightly — * that
is very well. Monsieur will travel in company
with his friends ; they will be always near
him. It is a good thing to travel thus in
company — sometimes.'

The last word appeared to be added as an
afterthought, and to bring with it a relapse
into gloom for the poor little man.

They were soon at the house, which was
one rather larger than its neighbours, stone-
built, with a shield carved over the door, the
shield of Alberic de Maul^on, a collateral
descendant, Dennistoun. tells me, of Bishop
John de Maul^on. This Alberic was a Canon
of Comminges from 1680 to 1701. The
upper windows of the mansion were boarded
up, and the whole place bore, as does the rest
of Comminges, the aspect of decaying age.

Arrived on his doorstep, the sacristan paused
a moment.

12 GHOST-STORIES OF AN iUSITIQUARY

* Perhaps/ he said, ^ perhaps, after all, mon-
sieur has not the time V

*Not at all — lots of time — nothing to do
till to-morrow. Let us see what it is you
have got/

The door was opened at this point, and a
face looked out, a face far younger than the
sacristan's, but bearing something of the same
distressing look: only here it seemed to be
the mark, not so much of fear for personal
safety as of acute anxiety on behalf of
another. Plainly, the owner of the face was
the sacristan's daughter ; and, but for the
expression I have described, she was a hand-
some girl enough. She brightened up con-
siderably on seeing her father accompianied
by an able-bodied stranger. A few remarks
passed between father and daughter, of which
Dennistoim only caught these words, said by
the sacristan, * He was laughing in the church,'
words which were answered only by a look
of terror from the girl.

But in another minute they were in the sit-
ting-room of the house, 4 small, high chamber

CANON ALBERICS SCRAP-BOOK 13

with a stone floor, full of moving shadows
cast by a wood-fire that flickered on a gredt
hearth. Something of the character of an
oratory was imparted to it by a taU crucifix,
which reached almost to the ceiling on one
side ; the figure was painted of the natural
colours., the cross was black. Under this
stood a chest of some age and solidity, and
when a lamp had been brought, and chairs
set, the sacristan went to this chest, and pro-
duced therefrom, with growing excitement and
nervousness, as Dennistoun thought, a large
book, wrapped in a white cloth, on which
cloth a cross was rudely embroidered in red
thread. Even before the wrapping had been
removed, Dennistoun began to be interested by
the size and shape of the volume. * Too large
for a missal,' he thought, * and not the shape
of an antiphoner ; perhaps it may be some-
thing good, after all.' The next moment the
book was open, and Dennistoun felt that he
had at last lit upon something better than
good. Before him lay a large folio, bound,
perhaps, late in the seventeenth century, with

14 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

the arms of Canon Alberic de Maul^n
stamped in gold on the sides. There may have
been a hmidred and fifty leaves of paper in
the book, and on almost every one of them
was fastened a leaf from an iUmninated manu-
script. Such a collection Dennistoun had hardly
dreamed of in his wildest moments. Here
were ten leaves from a copy of Gtenesis,
illustrated with pictures, which could not be
later than 700 a.d. Further on was a com-
plete set of pictures from a Psalter, of
English execution, of the very finest kind that
the thirteenth century could produce; and,
perhaps best of all, there were twenty leaves
of uncial writing in Latin, which, as a few
words seen here and there told him at once,
must belong to some very early unknown
patristic treatise. Could it possibly be a frag-
ment of the copy of Papias ^ On the Words
of Our Lord,' which was known to have
existed as late as the twelfth century at
Nimes?'* In any case, his mind was made

* We now know that these leaves did contain a
considerable fragment of that work, if not of that
actual copy of it.

CANON ALBERICS SCRAP-BOOK 16

up; that book must return to Cambridge
with him, even if he had to draw the whole
of his balance from the bank and stay at
St. Bertrand tiU the money came. He glanced
up at the sacristan to see if his face yielded
any hint that the book was for sale. The
sacristan was pale, and his lips were working.

. If monriJr will turn on to the end,' he
said.

So monsieur turned on, meeting new trea-
sures at every rise of a leaf ; and at the end
of the book he came upon two sheets of paper,
of much more recent date than anything he
had yet seen, which puzzled him considerably.
They must be contemporary, he decided, with
the imprincipled Canon Alberic, who had
doubtless plundered the Chapter library of
St. Bertrand to form this priceless scrap-book.
On the first of the paper sheets was a plan,
carefuUy drawn and instantly recognisable by
a person who knew the ground, of the south
aisle and cloisters of St. Bertrand's. There
were curious signs looking like planetary
symbols, and a few Hebrew words in the

16 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

comers ; and in the north-west angle of the
cloister was a cross drawn in gold paint.
Below the plan were some lines of writing in
Latin, which ran thus :

^ Responsa 18^ Dec. 1694. Interrogatum est : In-
veniamne P Respousum est : Invenies. Fiamne dives ?
Fies. Vivairine invidendus ? Vives. Moriarne in lecto
meo ? Ita.' (Answers of the 12th of December, 1694.
It was asked: Shall I find it? Answer: Thou shalt.
Shall I become rich? Thou wilt. Shall I live an
object of envy ? Thou wilt. Shall I die in my bed ?
Thou wilt.)

*A good specimen of the treasure-hunter's
record — quite reminds one of Mr. Minor-Canon
Quatremain in " Old St. Paul's," ' was Dennis-
toun's comment, and he turned the leaf.

What he then saw impressed him, as he has
often told me, more than he could have con-
ceived any drawing or picture capable of im-
pressing him. And, though the drawmg he
saw is no longer in existence, there is a photo-
graph of it (which I possess) which ftdly
bears out that statement. The picture in
question was a sepia drawing at the end of the
seventeenth century, representing, one would

CANON ALBERICTS SCRAP-BOOK 17

say at first sight, a Biblical scene ; for the
architecture (the picture represented an in-
terior) and the figures had that semi-classical
flavour about them which the artists of two
hundred years ago thought appropriate to
illustrations of the Bible. On the right was
a King on his throne, the throne elevated on
twelve steps, a canopy overhead, soldiers on
either side — evidently King Solomon. He
was bending forward with outstretched sceptre,
in attitude of command; his face expressed
horror and disgust, yet there was in it also
the mark of imperious command and confi-
dent power. The left half of the picture was
the strangest, however. The interest plainly
centred there. On the pavement before the
throne were grouped four soldiers, surrounding
a crouching figure which must be described in
a moment. A fifth soldier lay dead on the
pavement, his neck distorted, and his eyeballs
starting from his head. The four surrounding
guards were looking at the King. In their
faces the sentiment of horror was intensified ;
they seemed, in fact, only restrained from flight

18 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

by their implicit trust in their master. All
this terror was plainly excited by the being
that crouched in their midst. I entirely
despair of conveying by any words the impres-
sion which this figure makes upon anyone who
looks at it. I recollect once showing the
photograph of the drawing to a lecturer on
morphology — a person of, I was going to say,
abnormaUy sane and unhnaginative habits of
mind. He absolutely refiised to be alone for
the rest of that evening, and he told me after-
wards that for many nights he had not dared
to put out his light before going to sleep.
However, the main traits of the figure I can
at least indicate. At first you saw only a mass
of coarse, matted black hair ; presently it was
seen that this covered a body of fearful thin-
ness, almost a skeleton, but with the muscles
standing out like wires. The hands were of a
dusky pallor, covered, like the body, with long,
coarse hairs, and hideously taloned. The eyes,
touched in with a burning yellow, had intensely
black pupils, and were fixed upon the throned
King with a look of beast-like hate. Imagine

CANON ALBERICS SCRAP-BOOK 19

one of the awful bird-catching spiders of South
America translated into human form, and
endowed with intelligence just less than
human, and you will have some faint con-
ception of the terror inspired by the appalling
effigy. One remark is universally made by
those to whom I have shown the picture : * It
was drawn from the life/

As soon as the first shock of his irresistible
fright had subsided, Dennistoun stole a look at
his hosts. The sacristan's hands were pressed
upon his eyes ; his daughter, looking up at the
cross on the wall, was telling her beads
feverishly.

At last the question was asked, * Is this book
for sale V

There was the same hesitation, the same
plunge of determination, that he had noticed
before, and then came the welcome answer,
^ If monsieur pleases.'

* How much do you ask for it V

* I will take two hundred and fifty francs.'
This was confounding. Even a collector's

conscience is sometimes stirred, and Dennis-

2—2

20 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

toun*s conscience was tenderer than a col-
lector's.

* My good man !' he said again and again,
* your book is worth far more than two him-
dred and fifty francs, I assure you — far more.'

But the answer did not vary : * I wiU take
two hundred and fifty francs, not more.'

There was really no possibility of refiising
such a chance. The money was paid, the
receipt signed, a glass of wine drunk over the
transaction, and then the sacristan seemed
to become a new man. He stood upright, he
ceased to throw those suspicious glances
behind him, he actually laughed or tried to
laugh. Dennistoun rose to go.

* I shall have the honour of accompanying
monsieur to his hotel V said the sacristan.

* Oh no, thanks ! it isn't a hundred yards. I
know the way perfectly, and there is a moon.'

The offer was pressed three or four times,
and refused as often.

* Then, monsieur will sunmion me if — if he
finds occasion ; he will keep the middle of the
road, the sides are so rough.'

CANON ALBERICS SCRAP-BOOK 21

* Certainly, certainly,' said Dennistoun, who
was impatient to examine his prize by himself ;
and he stepped out into the passage with his
book mider his ann.

Here he was met by the daughter ; she, it
appeared, was anxious to do a little business
on her own account ; perhaps, like Gehazi, to
* take somewhat ' from the foreigner whom her
father had spared.

* A silver crucifix and chain for the neck ;
monsieur would perhaps be good enough to
accept it V

Well, really, Dennistoun hadn't much use
for these things. What did mademoiselle
want for it ?

* Nothing — nothing in the world. Monsieur
is more than welcome to it.'

The tone in which this and much more
was said was unmistakably genuine, so that
Dennistoun was reduced to profiise thanks,
and submitted to have the chain put round
his neck. It really seemed as if he had
rendered the father and daughter some service
which they hardly knew how to repay. As

22 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

he set off with his book they stood at the door
looking after him, and they were still looking
when he waved them a last good-night from
the steps of the Chapeau Rouge.
• Dinner was over, and Dennistoun was in his
bedroom, shut up alone with his acquisition.
The landlady had manifested a particular
interest in him since he had told her that he
had paid a visit to the sacristan and bought an
old book from him. He thought, too, that he
had heard a hurried dialogue between her and
the said sacristan in the passage outside the
salle d, manger ; some words to the effect that
' Pierre and Bertrand would be sleeping in the
house ' had closed the conversation.

At this time a growing feeling of discomfort
had been creeping over him — nervous reaction,
perhaps, after the delight of his discovery.
Whatever it was, it resulted in a conviction
that there was someone behind him, and that
he was far more comfortable with his back to
the wall. All this, of course, weighed light in
the balance as against the obvious value of the
collection he had acquired. And now, as I

CANON ALBERICS SCRAP-BOOK 23

said, he was alone in his bedroom, taking stock
of Canon Alberic's treasures, in which every
moment revealed something more charming.

* Bless Canon Alberic !' said Dennistoun, who
had an inveterate habit of talking to himself.
* I wonder where he is now ? Dear me I 1
wish that landlady would learn to laugh in a
more cheering manner ; it makes one feel as if
there was someone dead in the house. Half a
pipe more, did you say ? I think perhaps you
are right. I wonder what that crucifix is that
the young woman insisted on giving me ?
Last century, I suppose. Yes, probably. It
is rather a nuisance of a thing to have round
one's neck — just too heavy. Most likely her
fether has been wearing it for years. I think
I might give it a clean up before I put it
away.'

He had taken the crucifix off, and laid it on
the table, when his attention was caught by an
object lying on the red cloth just by his left
elbow. Two or three ideas of what it might
be flitted through his brain with their own
incalculable quickness.

24 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

'A penwiper? No, no such thing in the
house. A rat? No, too black. A large
spider ? I trust to goodness not — no. Good
God 1 a hand like the hand in that picture I'

In another infinitesimal flash he had taken
it in. Pale, dusky skin, covering nothing but
bones and tendons of appalling strength ;
coarse black hairs, longer than ever grew on
a human hand ; naUs rismg from the ends of
the fingers and curving sharply down and
forward, gray, homy and wrinkled.

He flew out of his chair with deadly, incon-
ceivable terror clutching at his heart. The
shape, whose left hand rested on the table,
was rising to a standing posture behind his
seat, its right hand crooked above his scalp.
There was black and tattered drapery about
it ; the coarse hair covered it as in the draw-
ing. The lower jaw was thin — what can I
call it ? — shallow, like a beast's ; teeth showed
behind the black lips ; there was no nose ; the
eyes, of a fiery yellow, against which the pupils
showed black and intense, and the exulting
hate and thirst to destroy life which shone

CANON ALBERICTS SCRAP-BOOK 26

there, were the most horrifying feature m the
whole vision. There was intelligence of a kind
in them — intelligence beyond that of a beast,
below that of a man.

The feehngs which this horror stirred in
Dennistoun were the mtensest physical fear and
the most profound mental loathing. What
did he do? What could he do? He has
never been quite certain what words he said,
but he knows that he spoke, that he grasped
blindly at the silver crucifix, that he was con-
scious of a movement towards him on the part
of the demon, and that he screamed with the
voice of an animal in hideous pain.

Pierre and Bertrand, the two sturdy little
serving-men, who rushed in, saw nothing, but
felt themselves thrust aside by something that
passed out between them, and found Dennis-
toim in a swoon. They sat up with him that
night, and his two friends were at St. Bertrand
by nine o'clock next morning. He himself
though still shaken and nervous, was almost
himself by that time, and his story found
credence with them, though not until they

26 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

had seen the drawing and talked with the
sacristan.

Almost at dawn the little man had come to
the inn on some pretence, and had listened
with the deepest interest to the story
retailed by the landlady. He showed no sur-
prise.

' It is he — ^it is he ! I have seen him
myself,' was his only comment; and to all
questionings but one reply was vouchsafed:
*Deux fois je I'ai vu; mille fois je I'ai
senti.' He would tell them nothing of the
provenance of the book, nor any details of his
experiences. * I shall soon sleep, and my rest
will be sweet. Why should you trouble me V
he said.^

We shall never know what he or Canon
Alberic de Mauldon suffered. At the back of
that fateful drawing were some lines of writing
which may be supposed to throw light on the
situation :

* He died that summer; his daughter married,
and settled at St. Papoul. She never understood the
circumstances of her father^s ^ obsession.**

CANON ALBERICTS SCRAP-BOOK 27

* Contradicido Salomonis cum demonio noctumo.

Albericus de Mauleone delineavit.

V. Deus in adiutorium. Fs. Qui habitat.

Sancte Bertrande, demoniorum effiigator, intercede pro

me miserrimo.
Primum uidi nocte 12™^ Dec 1694 : uidebo mox
ultimum. Feccaui et passus sum, pluia adhuc
passurus. Dec. 29, 1701/*

I have never quite understood what was
Dennistoun's view of the events I have nar-
rated. He quoted to me once a text from
Eeelesiastieus : * Some spirits there be that
are created for vengeance, and in their fiiry
lay on sore strokes.' On another occasion he
said : * Isaiah was a very sensible man ; doesn't

* Le.j The Dispute of Solomon with a demon of the
night. Drawn by Alberic de Mauleon. Verside. O Lord,
make haste to help me. PsaJm. Whoso dwelleth (xci.).

Saint Bertrand, who puttest devils to flight, pray for
me most unhappy. I saw it first on the night of
Dec. 12, 1694 : soon I shall see it for the kst time. I
have sinned and suffered, and have more to suffer yet.
Dec. 29, 1701.

The * Gallia Christiana^ gives the date oi the
Canon's death as December 31, 1701, ^ in bed, of a
sudden seizure.' Details of this kind are not common
in the great work of the Sammarthani.

28 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

he say something about night monsters living
in the ruins of Babylon? These things are
rather beyond us at present,'

Another confidence of his impressed me
rather, and I sympathized with it. We had
been, last year, to Comminges, to see Canon
Alberic's tomb. It is a great marble erection
with an effigy of the Canon in a large wig and
soutane, and an elaborate eulogy of his learning
below. I saw Dennistoun talking for some
time with the Vicar of St. Bertrand's, and
as we drove away he said to me : * I hope
it isn't wrong : you know I am a Presbyterian
— ^but I — I believe there will be "saying of
Mass and singmg of dirges " for Alberic de
Maul^on's rest.' Then he added, with a touch
of the Northern British in his tone, * I had
no notion they came so dear.'

The book is in the Wentworth Collection at
Cambridge. The drawing was photographed
and then burnt by Dennistoun on the day
when he left Comminges on the occasion of
his first visit.

LOST HEARTS

It was, as far as I can ascertain, in September
of the year 1811 that a postchaise drew up
before the door of Aswarby Hall, in the heart
of Lincolnshire. The little boy who was the
only passenger in the chaise, and who jumped
out as soon as it had stopped, looked about
him with the keenest curiosity during the short
interval that elapsed between the ringing of
the bell and the opening of the hall door.
He saw a tall, square, red-brick house, built in
the reign of Anne ; a stone-piUared porch had
been added in the purer classical style of 1790;
the windows of the house were many, tall and
narrow, with smaU panes and thick white
woodwork. A pediment, pierced with a round
wmdow, crowned the front. There were wings
to right and left, connected by curious glazed

32 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

galleries, supported by colonnades, with the
central block. These wings plainly contained
the stables and offices of the house. Each was
surmounted by an ornamental cupola with a
gUded vane.

An evening light shone on the building,
making the window-panes glow like so many
fires. Away from the Hall in front stretched
a flat park studded with oaks and fringed with
firs, which stood out against the sky. The
clock in the church-tower, buried in trees on
the edge of the park, only its golden weather-
cock catching the light, was striking six, and the
sound came gently beating down the wind.
It was altogether a pleasant impression, though
tinged with the sort of melancholy appropriate
to an evening in early autunm, that was con-
veyed to the mind of the boy who was stand-
ing in the porch waiting for the door to open
to him.

He had just come from Warwickshire, and
some six months ago had been left an orphan.
Now, owing to the generous and unexpected
offer of his elderly cousin, Mr. Abney, he had

LOST HEARTS 33

come to live at Aswarby. The offer was un-
expected, because all who knew anything of
Mr, Abney looked upon him as a somewhat
austere recluse, into whose steady-going house-
hold the advent of a small boy would import
a new and, it seemed, incongraous element.
The truth is that very little was known of
Mr. Abney's pursuits or temper. The Pro-
fessor of Greek at Cambridge had been heard
to say that no one knew more of the religious
beliefs of the later pagans than did the owner
of Aswarby. Certainly his library contained
all the then available books bearing on the
Mysteries, the Orphic poems, the worship of
Mithras, and the Neo-Platonists. In the
marble-paved hall stood a fine group of
Mithras slaying a bull, which had been im-
ported from the Levant at great expense by
the owner. He had contributed a description
of it to the Gentleman's Magazine^ and he had
written a remarkable series of articles in the
Critical Museum on the superstitions of the
Romans of the Lower Empire. He was
looked upon, in fine, as a man wrapped up in

84 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

his books, and it was a matter of great sur-
prise among his neighbours that he should
ever have heard of his orphan cousin, Stephen
Elliott, much more that he should have
volunteered to make him an inmate of
Aswarby Hall.

Whatever may have been expected by his
neighbours, it is certain that Mr. Abney — ^the
tall, the thin, the austere — seemed inclined to
give his young cousin a kindly reception. The
moment the front-door was opened he darted
out of his study, rubbing his hands with
delight.

*How are you, my boy? — how are you?
How old are you V said he—* that is, you are
not too much tired, I hope, by your journey to
eat your supper V

' No, thank you, sir,' said Master Elliott ; ' I
am pretty well.'

' That's a good lad,' said Mr. Abney. ' And
how old are you, my boy ?'

It seemed a little odd that he should have
asked the question twice in the first two
minutes of their acquaintance.

LOST HEARTS 35

* I'm twelve years old next birthday, sir,'
said Stephen.

* And when is your birthday, my dear boy ?
Eleventh of September, eh? That's well —
that's very well. Nearly a year hence, isn't
it ? I like — ha, ha ! — I like to get these
things down in my book. Sure it's twelve?
Certain ?'

* Yes, quite sure, sir.'

•Well, well! Take him to Mrs. Bunch's
room, Parkes, and let him have his tea —
supper — whatever it is.*

* Yes, sir,' answered the staid Mr. Parkes ;
and conducted Stephen to the lower regions.

Mrs. Bunch was the most comfortable and
human person whom Stephen had as yet met
in Aswarby. She made him completely at
home ; they were great friends in a quarter
of an hour : and great friends they remained.
Mrs. Bimch had been bom in the neigh-
bourhood some fifty-five years before the
date of Stephen's arrival, and her residence
at the Hall was of twenty years' standing.
Consequently, if anyone knew the ins and outs

8—2

36 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

of the house and the district, Mrs. Bunch
knew them; and she was by no means dis-
inclined to communicate her information.

Certainly there were plenty of things about
the Hall and the Hall gardens which Stephen,
who was of an adventiu'ous and inquiring turn,
was anxious to have explained to him. ' Who
built the temple at the end of the laurel walk?
Who was the old man whose picture hung on
the staircase, sitting at a table, with a skull
under his hand V These arid many similar
points were cleared up by the resources of
Mrs. Bunch's powerful intellect. There were
others, however, of which the explanations
furnished were less satisfactory.

One November evening Stephen was sitting
by the fire in the housekeeper's room reflecting
on his surroundings.

* Is Mr. Abney a good man, and will he go
to heaven?' he suddenly asked, with the
peculiar confidence which children possess in
the ability of their elders to settle these ques-
tions, the decision of which is believed to be
reserved for other tribunals.

LOST HEARTS 37

* Good ? — ^bless the child !' said Mrs. Bunch.
* Master's as kind a soul as ever I see I
Didn't I never tell you of the little boy as he
took in out of the street, as you may say, this
seven years back ? and the little girl, two years
after ^ first come here V

*No. Do tell me all about them, Mrs.
Bunch — now this minute !'

' Well,' said Mrs. Bunch, ' the little gu-1 I
don't seem to recollect so much about. I
know master brought her back with him from
his walk one day, and give orders to Mrs.
Ellis, as was housekeeper then, as she should
be took every care with. And the pore child
hadn't no one belonging to her — she telled me
so her own self— and here she lived with us a
matter of three weeks it might be ; and then,
whether she were somethink of a gipsy in her
blood or what not, but one morning she out
of her bed afore any of us had opened a eye
and neither track nor yet trace of her have 1
set eyes on since. Master was wonderfiil
put about, and had ail the ponds dragged ;
but it's my belief she was had away by them

38 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

gipsies, for there was singing round the house
for as much as an hour the night she went,
and Parkes, he declare as he heard them
a-calling in the woods all that afternoon.
Dear, dear 1 a hodd child she was, so silent in
her ways and all, but I was wonderful taken
up with her, so domesticated she was — sur-
prising.'

*And what about the little boy?' said
Stephen.

*Ah, that pore boyl' sighed Mrs. Bunch.
* He were a foreigner — Jevanny he called his-
self — and he come a-tweaking his 'urdy-gurdy
round and about the drive one winter day, and
master 'ad him in that minute, and ast all
about where he came from, and how old he
was, and how he made his way, and where was
his relatives, and all as kind as heart could
wish. But it went the same way with him.
They're a hunruly lot, them foreign nations, I
do suppose, and he was off one fine morning
just the same as the girl. Why he went
and what he done was our question for as
much as a year after ; for he never took

LOST HEARTS 39

his 'urdy-gurdy, and there it lays on the
shelf.'

The remainder of the evening was spent by
Stephen in miscellaneous cross-examination of
Mrs. Bunch and in efforts to extract a tune
from the hurdy-gurdy.

That night he had a curious dream. At the
end of the passage at the top of the house, in
which his bedroom was situated, there was an
old disused bathroom. It was kept locked,
but the upper half of the door was glazed, and,
since the muslin curtains which used to hang
there had long been gone, you could look in
and see the lead-lined bath affixed to the wall
on the right hand, with its head towards the
wmdow.

On the night of which I am speaking,
Stephen Elliott found himself, as he thought,
looking through the glazed door. The moon
was shining through the window, and he was
gazmg at a figure which lay in the bath.

His description of what he saw reminds me
of what I once beheld myself in the famous
vaults of St. Michan's Church in Dublin, which

40 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

possess the horrid property of preserving corpses
from decay for centuries. A figure inex-
pressibly thin and pathetic, of a dusty leaden
colour, enveloped in a shroud-like garment,
the thin lips crooked into a faint and dreadful
smile, the hands pressed tightly over the region
of the heart.

As he looked upon it, a distant, almost
inaudible moan seemed to issue from its lips,
and the arms began to stir. The terror of the
sight forced Stephen backwards, and he awoke
to the fact that he was indeed standing on the
cold boarded floor of the passage in the fiill
light of the moon. With a coiu'age which I
do not think can be common among boys of
his age, he went to the door of the bathroom
to ascertain if the figure of his dream were
really there. It was not, and he went back
to bed.

Mrs. Bunch was much impressed next morn-
ing by his story, and went so far as to replace
the muslin curtain over the glazed door of the
bathroom. Mr. Abney, moreover, to whom
he confided his experiences at breakfast, was.

LOST HEARTS 41

greatly interested, and made notes of the
matter in what he called * his book.'

The spring equinox was approaching, as
Mr. Al4 L^enUy rendndS hi, din.
adding that this had been always considered
by the ancients to be a critical time for
the young: that Stephen would do well to
take care of himself, and to shut his bedroom
window at night ; and that Censorinus had
some valuable remarks on the subject. Two
incidents that occurred about this time made
an impression upon Stephen's mind.

The first was after an unusually uneasy and
oppressed night that he had passed — ^though
he could not recall any particular dream that
he had had.

The following evening Mrs. Bunch was
occupying herself in mending his nightgown.

* Gracious me. Master Stephen !' she broke
forth rather irritably, *how do you manage
to tear your nightdress all to flinders this
way? Look here, sir, what trouble you do
give to poor servants that have to dam and
mend after you !'

42 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

There was indeed a most destructive and
apparently wanton series of slits or scorings in
the garment, which would undoubtedly require
a skilful needle to make good. They were
confined to the left side of the chest — ^long,
parallel slits, about six inches in length, some
of them not quite piercing the texture of the
linen. Stephen could only express his entire
ignorance of their origin : he was sure they
were not there the night before.

* But,' he said, * Mrs. Bunch, they are just
the same as the scratches on the outside of
my bedroom door ; and I'm sure I never had
anything to do with making them'

Mrs. Bunch gazed at him open-mouthed,
then snatched up a candle, departed hastily
from the room, and was heard making her way
upstairs. In a few minutes she came down.

*Well,' she said, * Master Stephen, it's a
funny thing to me how them marks and
scratches can 'a' come there — too high up for
any cat or dog to 'ave made 'em, much less a
rat : for all the world like a Chinaman's finger-
nails, as my uncle in the tea-trade used to tell

LOST HEARTS 48

us of when we was girls together. I wouldn't
say nothing to master, not if I was you,
Master Stephen, my dear ; and just turn the
key of the door when you go to your bed.'

* I always do, Mrs. Bunch, as soon as I've
said my prayers.'

* Ah, that's a good child : always say your
prayers, and then no one can't hurt you.'

Herewith Mrs. Bunch addressed herself to
mending the injured nightgown, with intervals
of meditation, until bed-time. This was on a
Friday night in March, 1812.

On the following evening the usual duet of
Stephen and Mrs. Bunch was augmented by
the sudden arrival of Mr. Parkes, the butler,
who as a rule kept himself rather to himself
in his own pantry. He did not see that
Stephen was there : he was, moreover, flus-
tered and less slow of speech than was his
wont.

* Master may get up his own wme, if he
likes, of an evening,' was his first remark.
* Either I do it in the daytime or not at all,
Mrs. Bunch. I don't know what it may be :

44 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

very like it's the rats, or the wind got into
the cellars; but I'm not so young as I was,
and I can't go through with it as I have done.'

*Well, Mr. Parkes, you know it. is a sur-
prising place for the rats, is the Hall.'

*l'm not denying that, Mrs. Bunch; and,
to be sure, many a time I've heard the tale
from the men in the shipyards about the rat
that could speak. I never laid no confidence
in that before ; but to-night, if I'd demeaned
myself to lay my ear to the door of the further
bin, I could pretty much have heard what
they was saying.'

' Oh, there, Mr. Parkes, I've no patience
with your fancies ! Rats talking in the wine-
ceUar indeed !'

*Well, Mrs. Bunch, I've no wish to argue
with you : all I say is, if you choose to go
to the far bin, and lay your ear to the door,
you may prove my words this minute.'

* What nonsense you do talk, Mr. Parkes
— not fit for children to listen to ! Why,
you'll be frightening Master Stephen there
out of his wits.'

LOST HEARTS 45

* What I Master Stephen V said Parkes,
awaking to the consciousness of the boy's
presence. * Master Stephen knows well enough
when I'm a-playing a joke with you, Mrs.
Bunch.'

In fact, Master Stephen knew much too
well to suppose that Mr. Parkes had in the
first instance intended a joke. He was
interested, not altogether pleasantly, in the
situation; but all his questions were unsuc-
cessful in inducing the butler to give any
more detailed account of his experiences in
the wine-cellar.

We have now arrived at March 24, 1812.
It was a day of cvuious experiences for
Stephen : a windy, noisy day, which filled the
house and the gardens with a restless im-
pression. As Stephen stood by the fence of
the grounds, and looked out into the park, he
felt as if an endless procession of unseen people
were sweeping past him on the wind, borne on
resistlessly and aimlessly, vainly striving to
stop themselves, to catch at something that

46 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

might arrest their flight and bring them once
again into contact with the living world of
which they had formed a part. After luncheon
that day Mr. Abney said :

* Stephen, my boy, do you think you could
manage to come to me to-night as late as
eleven o'clock in my study ? I shall be busy
until that time, and I wish to show you some- -
thing connected with yovir ftiture life which it
is most important that you should know. You
are not to mention this matter to Mrs. Bunch
nor to anyone else in the house; and you
had better go to your room at the usual
time.'

Here was a new excitement added to life :
Stephen eagerly grasped at the opportunity of
sitting up till eleven o'clock. He looked in at
the library door on his way upstairs that even-
ing, and saw a brazier, which he had often
noticed in the comer of the room, moved out
before the fire ; an old silver-gilt cup stood on
the table, filled with red wine, and some written
sheets of paper lay near it. Mr. Abney was
sprinkling some incense on the brazier from

LOST HEARTS 47

a round silver box as Stephen passed, but did
not seem to notice his step.

The wind had fallen, and there was a still
night and a full moon. At about ten o'clock
Stephen was standing at the open window of
his bedroom, looking out over the country. Still
as the night was, the mysterious population of
the distant moonlit woods was not yet lulled
to rest. From time to time strange cries as of
lost and despairing wanderers sounded from
across the mere. They might be the notes of
owls or water-birds, yet they did not quite
resemble either sound. Were not they coming
nearer? Now they sounded from the nearer
side of the water, and in a few moments they
seemed to be floating about among the shrub-
beries. Then they ceased ; but just as Stephen
was thinking of shutting the window and re-
suming his reading of * Robinson Crusoe,' he
caught sight of two figures standing on the
gravelled terrace that ran along the garden
side of the Hall — ^the figures of a boy and
girl, as it seemed; they stood side by side,
looking up at the windows. Something in

48 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

the form of the girl recalled uresistibly his
dream of the figure in the bath. The boy
inspired him with more acute fear.

Whilst the girl stood still, half smiling, with
her hands clasped over her heart, the boy, a
thin shape, with black hair and ragged cloth-
ing, raised his arms in the air with an appear-
ance of menace and of unappeasable hunger
and longing. The moon shone upon his
almost transparent hands, and Stephen saw
that the nails were fearfiiUy long and that the
light shone through them. As he stood with
his arms thus raised, he disclosed a terrifying
spectacle. On the left side of his chest there
opened a black and gaping rent; and there
fell upon Stephen's brain, rather than upon his
ear, the impression of one of those hungry and
desolate cries that he had heard resounding
over the woods of Aswarby all that evening.
In another moment this dreadful pair had
moved swiftly and noiselessly over the dry
gravel, and he saw them no more.

Inexpressibly frightened as he was, he deter-
mined to take his candle and go down to

LOST HEARTS 49

Mr. Abney's study, for the hour appointed for
their meeting was near at hand. The study
or library opened out of the front-hall on one
side, and Stephen, urged on by his terrors, did
not take long in getting there. To effect an
entrance was not so easy. It was not locked,
he felt sure, for the key was on the outside of
the door as usual. His repeated knocks pro-
duced no answer. Mr. Abney was engaged :
he was speaking. What ! why did he try to
cry out ? and why was the cry choked in his
throat ? Had he, too, seen the mysterious
children? But now everything was quiet,
and the door yielded to Stephen's terrified
and frantic pushing.

4U ^ ^ M, ^

TT *1r It tp tt

On the table in Mr. Abney's study certain
papers were found which explained the situa-
tion to Stephen Elliott when he was of an age
to understand them. The most important
sentences were as follows :

* It was a belief very strongly and generally
held by the ancients — of whose wisdom in
these matters I have had such experience as

50 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

induces me to place confidence in their asser-fl
tions — that by enacting certain processes, which^
to us moderns have something of a barbaric
complexion, a very remarkable enhghtenment of
the spiritual faculties in man may be attained ;
that, for example, by absorbing the personalities
of a certain number of his fellow-creatures, an
individual may gain a complete ascendancy
over those orders of spiritual beings wliieh
control the elemental forces of our universe.
' It is recorded of Simon Magus that he ■(
able to fly in the air, to become invisible, or t
assume any form he pleased, by the agency o^
the soul of a boy whom, to use the libellous™
phrase employed by the author of the " Clemen-j
tine Recognitions," he had "murdered." I '
find it set down, moreover, with considerable
detail in the writings of Hermes Trismegistus,
that similar happy results may be produced by
the absorption of the hearts of not less tha]
three human beings below the age of twenty-J
one years. To the testing of the truth of this!
receipt I have devoted the gi-eater part of the,!
last twenty years, selecting as the corpora viltaM

LOST HEARTS 51

of my experiment such persons as could con-
veniently be removed without occasioning a
sensible gap in society* The first step I
effected by the removal of one Phoebe Stanley,
a girl of gipsy extraction, on March 24, 1792.
The second, by the removal of a wandering
Italian lad, named Giovanni Paoli, on the
night of March 28, 1805. The final " victim ''
— to employ a word repugnant in the highest
degree to my feelings — ^must be my cousin,
Stephen Elliott. His day must be this March
24, 1812.

*The best means of effecting the required
absorption is to remove the heart from the
living subject, to reduce it to ashes, and to
mingle them with about a pint of some red
wine, preferably port. The remains of the
first two subjects, at least, it will be well to
conceal : a disused bath-room or wine-cellar
will be found convenient for such a purpose.
Some annoyance may be experienced from the
psychic portion of the subjects, which popular
language dignifies with the name of ghosts.
But the man of philosophic temperamient — ^to

4—2

52 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

whom alone the experiment is appropriate-
will be little prone to attach importance to the'
feeble efforts of these beings to wreak their
vengeance on him. I contemplate with the
liveUest satisfaction the enlarged and emanciH
pated existence which the experiment, if sue- *
cessftil, will confer on me; not only placing
me beyond the reach of human justice (so-
called), but eliminating to a great extent the '
prospect of death itself.'

fig

o-
: the^J

hea^l
pres-^^^

Mr. Abney was fomid in his chah-, his hei
thrown back, his face stamped with an expres-l
sion of rage, fright, and mortal pain. In his
left side was a terrible lacerated wound, ex-
posing the heart. There was no blood on his
hands, and a long knife that lay on the table
was perfectly clean. A savage wild-cat might
have inflicted the injuries. The window of
the study was open, and it was the opinion of
the coroner that Mr. Abney had met his death
by the agency of some wild creature. But
Stephen Elliott's study of the papers I have
quoted led him to a very different conclusion.

THE MEZZOTINT

Some time ago I believe I had the pleasure
of telling you the story of an adventure which
happened to a friend of mine by the name of
Dennistoun, during his pursuit of objects of
art for the museum at Cambridge.

He did not pubUsh his experiences very
widely upon his return to England ; but they
could not fail to become known to a good many
of his friends, and among others to the gentle-
man who at that time presided over an art
museum at another University. It was to be
expected that the story should make a con-
siderable impression on the mind of a man
whose vocation lay in lines similar to Dennis-
toun's, and that he should be eager to catch at
any explanation of the matter which tended to
make it seem improbable that he should ever

56 GHOST-STOKIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

be called upon to deal with so agitating
emergency. It was,indeed, somewhat consoUi
to him to reflect that he was not expected to
apquire ancient MSS. for his institution ; that
was the business of the Shelburnian Library.
The authorities of that institution might, if
they pleased, ransack obscure corners of the
Continent for such matters. He was glad to ■
be obKged at the moment to confine his atten-
tion to enlarging the already unsurpassed
collection of English topograpliieal drawings
and engravmgs possessed by his museum. Yet,
as it turned out, even a department so homely
and fam^iliar as this may have its dark cornei
and to one of these Mr. Williams was
expectedly introduced.

Those who have taken even the most
limited interest in the acquisition of topo-
gxaphical pictures are aware that there is one
London dealer whose aid is indispensable to
their researches. Mr. J. W. Britnell publishes
at short intervals very admirable catalogues
of a large and constantly changing stock of,
engravings, plans, and old sketches of

t'et, 1

lely^l
lers^H

lost ^H
)po- ^\

THE MEZZOTINT 67

sions, churches, and towns in England and
Wales. These catalogues were, of course, the
ABC of his subject to Mr. Williams : but as
his museum already contained an enormous
accumulation of topographical pictures, he was
a regular, rather than a copious, buyer ; and he
rather looked to Mr. Britnell to fill up gaps
in the rank and file of his collection than to
supply him with rarities.

Now, in February of last year there appeared
upon Mr. Williams' desk at the museum a
catalogue ^m Mr. Britnell's emporium, and
accompanying it was a typewritten communi-
cation fix)m the dealer hhnself. This latter ran
as follows :

^Dear Sir,

*We beg to call your attention to
No. 978 in our accompanying catalogue, which
we shall be glad to send on approval.

* Yours faithfully,

*J. W. Britnell.'

To tiuii to No. 978 in the accompanjdng

58 GHOST-S'rORIES OF AN ANTIQUAHY

catalogue was with Mr. Williams (as he
served to himself) the work of a moment,
in the place indicated he found the follo'
entry;

' 978. — Unknown. Interesting mezzotint:
View of a manor-house, early part of th<
century. 15 by 10 inches ; black frame. £2 2s,'

It was not specially exciting, and the price
seemed high. However, as Mr. BritneU, who
knew his business and his customer, seemed to
set store by it, Mr. Williams wrote a postcard
asking for the article to be sent on approval,
along with some other engravings and sketches
which appeared in the same catalogue. And
so he passed without much excitement of
anticipation to the ordinary labours of the day,

A parcel of any kind always arrives a dai
later than you expect it, and that of Mr. ■"
Britnell proved, as I believe the right phrase
goes, no exception to the rule. It was delivered
at the museum by the afternoon post of
Saturday, after Mr. WiUiams had left his
work, and it was accordingly brought round
his rooms in college by the attendant, in oi

THE MEZZOTINT 69

that he might not have to wait over Sunday
before looking through it and returning such
of the contents as he did not propose to keep.
And here he found it when he came in to tea,
with a friend.

The only item with which I am concerned
was the rather large, black-framed mezzotint
of which I have already quoted the short
description given in Mr. Britnell's catalogue.
Some more details of it will. have to be given,
though I cannot hope to put before you the
look of the picture as clearly as it is present to
my own eye. Very nearly the exact duplicate
of it may be seen in a good many old inn
parlours, or in the passages of undisturbed
country mansions at the present moment. It
was a rather indifferent mezzotint, and an
indifferent mezzotint is, perhaps, the worst
form of engraving known. It presented a
fuU-face view of a not very large manor-
house of the last century, with three rows of
plain sashed windows with rusticated masonry
about them, a parapet with balls or vases at
the angles, and a small portico in the centre.

60 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

On either side were trees, and in front a
considerable expanse of lawn. The legend
* A. W. F. sculpsit ' was engraved on the narrow
margin ; and there was no further inscription.
The whole thing gave the impression that it
was the work of an amateur. What in the
world Mr. Britnell could mean by affixing the
price of £2 2s. to such an object was more
than Mr. Williams could imagine. He turned
it over with a good deal of contempt ; upon
the back was a paper label, the left-hand half
of which had been torn off. All that remained
were the ends of two lines of writing : the first
had the letters — ngley Hall; the second,
— ssex.

It would, perhaps, be just worth while to
identify the place represented, which he could
easily do with the help of a gazetteer, and
then he would send it back to Mr. Britnell,
with some remarks reflecting upon the judg-
ment of that gentleman.

He lighted the candles, for it was now dark,
made the tea, and supplied the friend with
whom he had been playing golf (for I believe

THE MEZZOTINT 61

the authorities of the University I TiTite of
indulge in that pursuit by way of relaxation) ;
and tea was taken to the accompaniment of a
discussion which golfing persons can imagine
for themselves, but which the conscientious
writer has no right to inflict upon any non-
golfing persons.

The conclusion arrived at was that certain
strokes might have been better, and that in
certain emergencies neither player had experi-
enced that amount of luck which a human
being has a right to expect. It was now
that the friend — let us call him Professor
Binks — took up the framed engraving, and
said:

* What's this place, Williams V

* Just what 1 am going to try to find out,'
said Williams, going to the shelf for a
gazetteer. * Look at the back. Something-
ley Hall, either in Sussex or Essex. Half
the name's gone, you see. You don't happen
to know it, I suppose V

* It's from that man Britnell, I suppose,
isn't it V said Binks. * Is it for the museum ?

62 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

* Well, I think I should buy it if the price
was five shillings/ said Williams; *but for
some unearthly reason he wants two guineas
for it. I can't conceive why. It's a wretched
engraving, and there aren't even any figures to
give it life.'

•' It's not worth two guineas, I should think,'
said Biriks ; * but I don't think it's so badly
done. The moonlight seems rather good to
me ; and I should have thought there were
figures, or at least a figure, just on the edge in
fi^ont.'

^ Let's look,' said WiUiams. ^WeU, it's
true the light is rather cleverly given. Where's
your figure ? Oh yes ! Just the head, in the
very fi"ont of the picture.'

And indeed there was — hardly more than a
black blot on the extreme edge of the en-
graving — the head of a man or woman, a good
deal muffled up, the back turned to the spec-
tator, and looking towards the house.

Williams had not noticed it before.

' Still,' he said, ' though it's a cleverer thing
than I thought, I can't spend two guineas of

THE MEZZOTINT 63

museum money on a picture of a place I don't
know.'

Professor Binks had his work to do, and soon
went ; and very nearly up to Hall time Williams
was engaged in a vain attempt to identify the
subject of his picture. * If the vowel before the
ng had only been left, it would have been easy
enough,' he thought ; * but as it is, the name
may be anything from Guestingley to Langley,
and there are many more names ending like
this than I thought ; and this rotten book has
no index of terminations.'

Hall in Mr. WiUiams's college was at seven.
It need not be dwelt upon ; the less so as he
met there colleagues who had been playing
golf during the afternoon, and words with
which we have no concern were freely bandied
across the table — merely golfing words, I
would hasten to explain.

I suppose an hour or more to have been
spent in what is called common-room after
dinner. Later in the evening some few retired
to Williams's room, and I have little doubt
that whist was played and tobacco smoked.

64 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

During a lull in these operations Williams
picked up the mezzotint from the table without
looking at it, and handed it to a person mildly-
interested in art, telling him where it had
come from, and the other particulars which
we already know.

The gentleman took it carelessly, looked at
it, then said, in a tone of some interest :

*It's really a very good piece of work,
WiUiams ; it has quite a feeling of the romantic
period. The light is admirably managed, it
seems to me, and the figure, though it's rather
too grotesque, is somehow very impressive/

* Yes, isn't it ?' said Williams, who was just
then busy giving whisky-and-soda to others
of the company, and was unable to come
across the room to look at the view again.

It was by this time rather late in the even-
ing, and the visitors were on the move. After
they went Williams was obliged to write a
letter or two and clear up some odd bits of
work. At last, some time past midnight, he
was disposed to turn in, and he put out his
lamp after lighting his bedroom candle. The

THE MEZZOTINT 66

picture lay face upwards on the table where
the last man who looked at it had put it, and
it caught his eye as he turned the lamp down.
What he saw made him very nearly drop the
candle on the floor, and he declares now that
if he had been left in the dark at that moment
he would have had a fit But, as that did
not happen, he was able to put down the light
on the table and take a good look at the
picture. It was indubitable — rankly impos-
sible, no doubt, but absolutely certain. In the
middle of the lawn in front of the unknown
house there was a figure where no figure had
been at five o'clock that afternoon. It was
crawling on all-fours towards the house, and it
was mufiled in a strange black garment with a
white cross on the back.

I do not know what is the ideal course to
pursue in a situation of this kind. I can only
tell you what Mr. Williams did. He took
the picture by one corner and carried it across
the passage to a second set of rooms which he
possessed. There he locked it up in a drawer,
sported the doors of both sets of rooms, and

66 GHOST-STOEIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

retired to bed; but first he wrote out and
signed an account of the extraordinary change
which the picture had undergone since it had
come into his possession.

Sleep visited him rather late; but it was
consoling to reflect that the behaviour of the
picture did not depend upon his own unsup-
ported testimony. Evidently the man who
had looked at it the night before had seen
something of the same kind as he had, other-
wise he might have been tempted to think
that something gravely wrong was happening
either to his eyes or his mind. This possibility
being fortunately precluded, two matters
awaited him on the morrow. He must take
stock of the picture very carefully, and call in
a witness for the piupose, and he must make
a determined effort to ascertain what house
it was that was represented. He would there-
fore ask his neighbour Nisbet to breakfast
with him, and he would subsequently spend a
morning over the gazetteer.

Nisbet was disengaged, and arrived about
9.80. His host was not quite dressed, I am

THE MEZZOTINT 67

sorry to say, even at this late hour. During
breakfast nothing was said about the mezzo-
tint by Williams, save that he had a picttu%
on wMoh he wished for Nisbefs opinio,^ But
those who are familiar with University life
can picture for themselves the wide and delight-
ful range of subjects over which the conversa-
tion of two Fellows of Canterbury College is
likely to extend during a Sunday morning
breakfast Hardly a topic was left un-
challenged, from golf to lawn-tennis. Yet 1
am bound to say that Williams was rather
distraught; for his interest naturally centred
in that very strange picture which was now
reposing, face downwards, m the drawer in the
room opposite.

The morning pipe was at last lighted, and
the moment had arrived for which he looked.
With very considerable — ^almost tremulous —
excitement, he ran across, unlocked the drawer,
and, extracting the picture — still face down-
wards — ^ran back, and put it into Nisbet's
hands.

* Now,' he said, * Nisbet, I want you to tell

5—2

68 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

me exactly what you see in that picture.
Describe it, if you don't mind, rather minutely.
I'll tell you why afterwards.'

* Well,' said Nisbet, * I have here a view of
a country-house — English, I presume — by
moonlight.'

^Moonlight? You're sure of that ?'

* Certainly. The moon appears to be on the
wane, if you wish for details, and there are
clouds in the sky.'

*A11 right. Go on. Ill swear,' added
WiUiams in an aside, Hhere was no moon
when I saw it first.'

* Well, there's not much more to be said,'
Nisbet continued. * The house has one — ^two
— ^three rows of windows, five in each row,
except at the bottom, where there's a porch
instead of the middle one, and '

*But what about figures?' said WiUiams,
with marked interest.

* There aren't any,' said Nisbet ; * but '

* What I No figure on the grass in fi^ont V

* Not a thing.'

* You'll swear to that ?'

THE MEZZOTINT 69

* Certainly I will. But there's just one
other thing/

' Wliat r

* Why, one of the windows on the ground-
floor — left of the door — is open.'

* Is it really so ? My goodness ! he must
have got in,' said WiUiams, with great excite-
ment ; and he hurried to the back of the sofa
on which Nisbet was sitting, and, catching the
picture from him, verified the matter for him-
self.

It was quite true. There was no figure, and
there was the open window. Williams, after
a moment of speechless surprise, went to the
writing-table and scribbled for a short time.
Then he brought two papers to Nisbet, and
asked him first to sign one — it was his own
description of the picture, which you have just
heard — and then to read the other, which was
WiUiams's statement written the night before.

' What can it all mean V said Nisbet.

* Exactly,' said Williams. * Well, one thing
I must do — or three things, now I think of it.
I must find out from Garwood ' — this was his

70 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

last night's visitor — *what he saw, and then
I must get the thing photographed before it
goes further, and then I must find out what
the place is.'

* I can do the photographing myself,' said
Nisbet, * and I will. But, you know, it looks
very much as if we were assisting at the work-
ing out of a tragedy somewhere. The ques-
tion is. Has it happened already, or is it going
to come off? You must find out what the
place is. Yes,' he said, looking at the picture
again, * I expect you're right : he has got in.
And if I don't mistake therell be the devil to
pay in one of the rooms upstairs.'

' I'll tell you what,' said Williams : ' I'll take
the picture across to old Green ' (this was the
senior Fellow of the College, who had been
Bursar for many years). * It's quite likely he'll
know it. We have property in Essex and
Sussex, and he must have been over the two
counties a lot in his time.'

* Quite likely he will,' said Nisbet ; * but
just let me take my photograph first. But
look here, I rather think Green isn't up to-day.

THE MEZZOTINT 71

He wasn't in Hall last night, and I think I
heard him say he was going down for the
Sunday.'

* That's true, too,' said Williams ; * I know
he's gone to Brighton. Well, if you'll photo-
graph it now, I'll go across to Garwood and
get his statement, and you keep an eye on it
while I'm gone. I'm beghming to think two
guineas is not a very exorbitant price for
it now.'

In a short time he had returned, and
brought Mr. Garwood with him. Garwood's
statement was to the effect that the figure,
when he had seen it, was clear of the edge of
the picture, but had not got far across the
lawn. He remembered a white mark on the
back of its drapery, but could not have been
sure it was a cross. A document to this effect
was then drawn up and signed, and Nisbet
proceeded to photograph the picture.

*Now what do you mean to do?' he said.
* Are you going to sit and watch it all day ?'

* Well, noi I think not,' said WiUiams. * I
rather imagine we're meant to see the whole

72 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

thing. You see, between the tune I saw it
last night and this mommg there was time
for lots of things to happen, but the creature
only got into the house. It could easily have
got through its business in the time and gone
to its own place again ; but the fact of
the window being open, I think, must mean
that it's in there now. So I feel quite easy
about leaving it. And, besides, I have a
kind of idea that it wouldn't change much, if
at all, in the daytime. We might go out for
a walk this afternoon, and come in to tea, or
whenever it gets dark. I shall leave it out on
the table here, and sport the door. My skip
can get in, but no one else.'

The three agreed that this would be a good
plan ; and, further, that if they spent the
afternoon together they would be less likely
to talk about the business to other people ;
for any rumour of such a transaction as was
going on would bring the whole of the Phas-
matological Society about their ears.

We may give them a respite until five
o'clock.

THE MEZZOTINT 73

At or near that hour the three were enter-
ing Williams's staircase. They were at first
slightly annoyed to see that the door of his
rooms was misported ; but in a moment it was
remembered that on Smiday the skips came
for orders an hour or so earlier than on week-
days. However, a surprise was awaiting
them. The first thing they saw was the
picture leaning up against a pile of books on
the table, as it had been left, and the next
thing was Williams's skip, seated on a chair
opposite, gazing at it with undisguised hoiTor.
How was this ? Mr. Filcher (the name is not
my own invention) was a servant of consider-
able standing, and set the standard of etiquette
to all his own college and to several neigh-
bouring ones, and nothing could be more alien
to his practice than to be found sitting on his
master's chair, or appearing to take any
particular notice of his master's fiimiture or
pictures. Indeed, he seemed to feel this him-
self. He started violently when the three
men were in the room, and got up with a
marked eflfort. Then he said :

74 GHOST-STOEIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

^I ask your pardon, sbr, for taking such a
freedom as to set down.'

* Not at all, Robert,* interposed Mr. Williams.
^ I was meaning to ask you some time what
you thought of that picture.'

'Well, sir, of course I don't set up my
opinion again yours, but it ain't the . pictur I
should 'ang where my little girl could see it, sir.'

' Wouldn't you, Robert ? Why not ?'

* No, sir. Why, the pore child, I recollect
once she see a Door Bible, with pictures not 'alf
what that is, and we 'ad to set up with her
three or four nights afterwards, if youll believe
me ; and if she was to ketch a sight of this
skelinton here, or whatever it is, carrying off
the pore baby, she would be in a taking.
You know 'ow it is with children ; 'ow nervish
they git with a little thing and all. But what I
should say, it don't seem a right pictur to be
laying about, sir, not where anyone that's
liable to be startled could come on it. Should
you be wanting anything this evening, sir ?
Thank you, sir.'

With these words the excellent man went

to omtmue the lamid of Iik ■■i*Ufiv and ytn
may be sme the gmflrmm wliam he left
lost no time in gatibediig laand the d^nving:
There was the house, as befixe. under the
waning mom and the driftiDg doods^ The

window that had been open was shot, and the
figure was <mce mcxe en the lawn : but not tins
time crawling cautiously on hands and knees.
Now it was exect and st^pmg swiftly , with
IcHig strides, towards the front of the pctme.
The nKX>n was bdiind it, and the Uaek drapery
hung down OTcr its fece so that only hints of
that could be seen, and what was visible made
the spectators profoundly thankful that they
could see no mcxe than a wiiite d<»ie-like
forehead and a few stragghng hairs. The
head was bent down, and the arms were tig^y
clasped over an object wiiidi could be dimly
seen and identified as a diild, whether dead or
living it was not possible to say. The lega of
the appearance alcme could be plainly discerned,
and they were horribly thin.

From five to seven the three companions
sat and watched the picture by turns. But

76 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

it never changed. They agreed at last that
it would be safe to leave it, and that they
would return after Hall and await further
developments.

When they assembled again, at the earliest
possible moment, the engraving was there,
but the figure was gone, and the house was
quiet under the moonbeams. There was
nothing for it but to spend the evening over
gazetteers and guide-books. Williams was
the lucky one at last, and perhaps he deserved
it. At 11.80 p.m. he read from Murray's
Guide to Essex the following lines :

*16^ miles, Anningley. The church has
been an interesting building of Norman date,
but was extensively classicized in the last
century. It contains the tomb of the family
of Francis, whose mansion, Anningley Hall,
a solid Queen Anne house, stands immediately
beyond the . churchyard in a park of about
80 acres. The family is now extinct, the last
heir having disappeared mysteriously in infancy
in the year 1802. The father, Mr. Arthur
Francis, was locally known as a talented

THE MEZZOTINT 77

amateur engraver in mezzotint. After his
son's disappearance he lived in complete re-
tirement at the Hall, and was found dead in
his studio on the third anniversary of the
disaster, having just completed an engraving
of the house, impressions of which are of
considerable rarity.'

This looked like business, and, indeed, Mr.
Green on his return at once identified the
house as Anningley Hall.

* Is there any kind of explanation of the
figure. Green?' was the question which WiUiams
naturally asked.

* I don't know, I'm sure, WiUiams. What
used to be said in the place when I first knew
it, which was before I came up here, was just
this : old Francis was always very much
down on these poaching fellows, and whenever
he got a chance he used to get a man whom
he suspected of it turned off the estate, and
by degrees he got rid of them all but one.
Squires could do a lot of things then that
they daren't think of now. Well, this man
that was left was what you find pretty often

78 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

in that country — ^the last remains of a very
old family. I believe they were Lords of
the Manor at one time. 1 recollect just the
same thing in my own parish.'

*What, like the man in Tess o' the Dur-
berviUes ? Williams put in.

' Yes, I dare say ; it's not a book I could
ever read myself. But this fellow could show
a row of tombs in the church there that be-
longed to his ancestors, and all that went to sour
him a bit ; but Francis, they said, could never
get at him — ^he always kept just on the right
side of the law— until one night the keepers
found him at it in a wood right at the end of
the estate. I could show you the place now ;
it marches with some land that used to belong
to an uncle of mine. And you can imagine
there was a row ; and this man Gawdy (that
was the name, to be sure — Gawdy ; I thought
I should get it — Gawdy), he was unlucky
enough, poor chap 1 to shoot a keeper. Well,
that was what Francis wanted, and grand
juries — ^you know what they would have been
then — and poor Gawdy was strung up in

THE MEZZOTINT 79

double-quick time; and I've been shown the
place he was buried in, on the north side of
the church — you know the way in that part of
the world : anyone that's been hanged or made
away with themselves, they bury them that
side. And the idea that there was some friend
of Gawdy's — not a relation, because he had
none, poor devil ! he was the last of his line :
kind of spes ulthna gentis — must have planned
to get hold of Francis's boy and put an end to
his line, too. I don't know — it's rather an
out-of-the-way thing for an Essex poacher to
think of— but, you know, I should say now it
looks more as if old Gawdy had managed
the job himself. Booh ! I hate to think of it 1
have some whisky, WiUiams !'

The facts were communicated by WiUiams
to Dennistoim, and by him to a mixed com-
pany, of which I was one, and the Sadducean
Professor of Ophiology another. I am sorry
to say that the latter, when asked what he
thought of it, only remarked: *Oh, those
Bridgeford people will say anything'— a senti-
ment which met with the reception it deserved

80 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

I have only to add that the picture is
now in the Ashleian Museum ; that it has been
treated with a view to discovering whether
sjrmpathetic ink has been used in it, but with-
out effect; that Mr. Britnell knew nothing
of it save that he was sure it was uncommon ;
and that, though carefidly watched, it has
never been known to change again.

THE ASH-TREE

81 6

THE ASH-TREE

Everyone who has travelled over Eastern
England knows the smaller country-houses
with which it is studded — ^the rather dank little
buildings, usually in the Italian style, sur-
rounded with parks of some eighty to a hun-
dred acres. For me they have always had a
very strong attraction: with the gray paling
of split oak, the noble trees, the meres with
their reed - beds, and the line of distant
woods. Then, I like the pillared portico —
perhaps stuck on to a red-brick Queen Anne
house which has been faced with stucco to
bring it into line with the * Grecian ' taste of
the end of the eighteenth century; the hall
inside, going up to the roof, which hall ought
always to be provided with a gallery and a
small organ. I like the library, too, where

83 6—2

84 GHOST-STORIES OP AN ANTIQUARY

you may find anything fi-om a Psalter <
thirteenth century to a Shakespeare quarta J
I like the pictures, of course ; and perhaps
most of all I like fancying what life in such a
house was when it was first built, and in the
piping times of landlords' prosperity, and not
least now. when, if money is not so plentiful,
taste is more varied and life quite as interest-
ing. I wish to have one of these houses, and
enough money to keep it together and enter-
tain my friends in it modestly.

But this is a digression. I have to tell you
of a curious series of events which happened
in such a house as I have tried to describe.
It is Castringham Hall in Suffolk. I think a
good deal has been done to the building
since the period of my story, but the essential
features I have sketched are still there —
ItaUan portico, square block of white house,
older inside than out, park with fringe of
woods, and mere. The one feature that
marked out the house from a score of others
is gone. As you looked at it from the park,
you saw on the right a great old ash-tree

THE ASH-TREE 85

growing within half a dozen yards of the wall,
and almost or quite touching the building
with its branches. I suppose it had stood
there ever since Castringham ceased to be a
fortified place, and since the moat was filled
in and the Elizabethan dwelling-house built.
At any rate, it had well-nigh attained its full
dimensions in the year 1690.

In that year the district in which the Hall
is situated was the scene of a number of
witch-trials. It will be long, I think, before
we arrive at a just estimate of the amount
of solid reason — ^if there was any — ^which lay
at the root of the universal fear of witches in
old times. Whether the persons accused of
this offence really did imagine that they were
possessed of unusual power of any kind; or
whether they had the will at least, if not the
power, of doing mischief to their neighbours ;
or whether all the confessions, of which there
are so many, were extorted by the mere
cruelty of the witch-finders— these are ques-
tions which are not, I fancy, yet solved. And
the present narrative gives me pause I

86 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

cannot altogether sweep it away as mt
invention. The reader must judge for hii
self.

Castringham contributed a victim to th(
autO'da-fc. Mrs. Mothersole was her name,
and she differed from the ordinary run of
village witches only in being rather better ofF
and in a more influential position. Efforts were
made to save her by several reputable farmers
of the parish. They did their best to testify
to her character, and showed considerable
anxiety as to the verdict of the jury.

But wliat seems to have been fatal to
woman was the evidence of the then pi
prietor of Castringham Hall — Sir Matthi
Fell. He deposed to having watched her
three different occasions from his window,
the full of the moon, gathering branches ' from
the ash-tree near ray house.' She had cUmbed
into the branches, clad only in her shift, and
was cutting off small twigs with a pecuharlyu
curved knife, and as she did so she seemed
be talking to herself. On each occasion Sir
Matthew had done his best to capture the

iir ~

THE ASH-TREE 87

woman, but she had always taken alarm at
some accidental noise he had made, and all he
could see when he got down to the garden was
a hare running across the path in the direction
of the village.

On the third night he had been at the pains
to follow at his best speed, and had gone
straight to Mrs. Mothersole's house; but he
had had to wait a quarter of an hour bat-
tering at her door, and then she had come
out very cross, and apparently very sleepy, as
if just out of bed ; and he had no good
explanation to offer of his visit.

Mainly on this evidence, though there was
much more of a less striking and unusual kind
from other parishioners, Mrs. Mothersole was
found guilty and condemned to die. She
was hanged a week after the trial, with five
or six more unhappy creatures, at Bury St.
Edmunds.

Sir Matthew Fell, then Deputy-Sheriff, was
present at the execution. It was a damp,
drizzly March morning when the cart made
its way up the rough grass hill outside North-

88 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

gate, where the gallows stood. The other
victims were apathetic or broken down with
misery ; but Mrs. Mothersole was, as in life so
in death, of a very different temper. Her
^poysonous Rage,' as a reporter of the time
puts it, * did so work upon the Bystanders —
yea, even upon the Hangman — ^that it was
constantly affirmed of all that saw her that
she presented the living Aspect of a mad
Divell. Yet she offer'd no Resistance to the
Officers of the Law ; onely she looked upon
those that laid Hands upon her with so direfull
and venomous an Aspect that — as one of them
afterwards assured me — the meer Thought of
it preyed inwardly upon his Mind for six
Months after.'

However, all that she is reported to have
said was the seemingly meaningless words:
* There will be guests at the Hall.' Which
she repeated more than once in an under-
tone.

Sir Matthew Fell was not unimpressed by
the bearing of the woman. He had some
talk upon the matter with the Vicar of his

THE ASH-TREE 89

parish, with whom he travelled home after the
assize business was over.. His evidence at the
trial had not been very willingly given ; he
was not specially infected with the witch-
finding mania, but he declared, then and after-
wards, that he could not give any other accoimt
of the matter than that he had given, and that
he could not possibly have been mistaken as
to what he saw. The whole transaction had
been repugnant to him, for he was a man who
liked to be on pleasant terms with those about
him ; but he saw a duty to be done in this
business, and he had done it. That seems to
have been the gist of his sentiments, and the
Vicar applauded it, as any reasonable man
must have done.

A few weeks after, when the moon of May
was at the full. Vicar and Squire met again in
the park, and walked to the HaU together.
Lady Fell was with her mother, who was
dangerously ill, and Sir Matthew was alone
at home ; so the Vicar, Mr. Crome, was easily
persuaded to take a late supper at the Hall.

Sir Matthew was not very good company

90 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

this evening. The talk ran chiefly on family
and parish matters, and, as luck would have it.
Six Matthew made a memorandum in writing
of certain wishes or intentions of his regarding
hi. estates, whioh .fterw.^ p«.vea SS .
ingly useful.

When Mr. Crome thought of starting for
home, about half-past nine o'clock. Sir Mat-
thew and he took a preliminary turn on the
gravelled walk at the back of the house. The
only incident that struck Mr. Crome was
this : they were in sight of the ash-tree which
1 described as growing near the windows of the
building, when Sir Matthew stopped and said :

* What is that that runs up and down the
stem of the ash ? It is never a squirrel ?
They will all be in their nests by now.'

The Vicar looked and saw the moving
creature, but he could make nothing of its
colour in the moonlight. The sharp outline,
however, seen for an instant, was imprinted on
his brain, and he could have sworn, he said,
though it sounded foolish, that, squirrel or not,
it had more than four legs.

THE ASH-TREE 91

Still, not much was to be made of the
momentary vision, and the two men parted.
They may have met since then, but it was not
for a score of years.

Next day Sir Matthew Fell was not down-
stairs at six in the morning, as was his custom,
nor at seven, nor yet at eight. Hereupon the
servants went and knocked at his chamber
door. I need not prolong the description of
their anxious listenings and renewed batterings
on the panels. The door was opened at last
from the outside, and they found their master
dead and black. So much you have guessed.
That there were any marks of violence did
not at the moment appear ; but the window
was open.

One of the men went to fetch the parson,
and then by his directions rode on to give notice
to the coroner. Mr. Crome himself went as
quick as he might to the Hall, and was shown
to the room where the dead man lay. He has
left some notes among his papers which show
how genuine a respect and sorrow was felt for
Sir Matthew, and there is also this passage,

92 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

which I transcribe for the sake of the light itl
throws upon the course of events, and ;
upon the common beliefs of the time :

• There was not any the least Trace of j
Entrance having been forc'd to the Chamber :
but the Casement stood open, as my poor
Friend would always have it in this Season
He had his Evening Drink of small Ale in i
silver vessel of about a pint measure, and to- '
night had not drunk it out. This Drink was
examined by the Physician from Bury, a Mr.
Hodgkins, who could not, however,
afterwards declar'd upon his Oath, before thej
Coroner's quest, discover that any matter of i
venomous kind was present in it. For, as wai
natural, in the great Swelling and Blackness c
the Corpse, there was talk made among the
Neighbours of Poyson. The Body was very
much Disorder'd as it laid in the Bed, being
twisted after so extream a sort as gave too_
probable Conjecture that my worthy Frien
and Patron had expir'd in great Pain
-Agony. And what is as yet unexplain'd, am
to myself the Argument of some Horrid an^

oor '

on^^H

Mr. J
the^H

sof^^

THE ASH-TREE 98

Artfiill Designe in the Perpetrators of this
Barbarous Murther, was this, that the Women
which were entrusted with the laying-out of
the Corpse and washing it, being bpth sad
Persons and very well Respected in their
MoumfuU Profession, came to me in a great
Pain and Distress both of Mind and Body,
saying, what was indeed confirmed upon the
first View, that they had no sooner touched
the Breast of the Corpse with their naked
Hands than they were sensible of a more than
ordinary violent Smart and Acheing in then-
Pahns, which, with then- whole Forearms, m
no long time swelled so hnmoderately, the
Pain still continuing, that, as afterwards
proved, during many weeks they were forc'd
to lay by the exercise of their Calling ; and
yet no mark seen on the Skin.

* Upon hearing this, I sent for the Physician,
who was still in the House, and we made as
carefidl a Proof as we were able by the Help
of a small Magnifying Lens of Crystal of the
condition of the Skinn on this Part of the
Body : but could not detect vnth the Instru-

94 GHOST-STOMES OF AN ANTIQUARY

ment we had any Matter of Importance beyond
a couple of small Pmictures or Pricks, which
we then concluded were the Spotts by which
the Poyson might be introduced, remembering
that Ring of Pope Borgia, with other known
Specimens of the Horrid Art of the Italian
Poysoners of the last age.

* So much is to be said of the Sjrmptoms
seen on the Corpse. As to what I am to add,
it is meerly my own Experiment, and to be
left to Posterity to judge whether there be
an3rthing of Value therein. There was on the
Table by the Beddside a Bible of the small
size, in which my Friend — ^punctuall as in
Matters of less Moment, so in this more
weighty one — used nightly, and upon his
First Rising, to read a sett Portion. And I
taking it up — not without a Tear duly paid
to him which from the Study of this poorer
Adumbration was now pass'd to the con-
templation of its great Originall — ^it came
into my Thoughts, as at such moments of
Helplessness we are prone to catch at any the
least Glimmer that makes promise of Light, to

THE ASH-TREE 96

make trial of that old and by many accounted
Superstitious Practice of drawing the Sortes :
of which a Principall Instance, in the case of
his late Sacred Majesty the Blessed Martyr
King Charles and my Lord Falkland, was now
much talked of. I must needs admit that by
my Trial not much Assistance was aflforded
me : yet, as the Cause and Origin of these
Dreadfull Events may hereafter be search'd
out, I set down the Results, in the case it
may be found that they pointed the true
Quarter of the Mischief to a quicker Intelli-
gence than my own.

* I made, then, three trials, opening the Book
and placing my Finger upon certain Words :
which gave in the first these words, from
Luke xiii. 7, Cut it down; in the second,
Isaiah xiii. 20, It shall never be inhahited;
and upon the third Experiment, Job xxxix. 80,
Her young ones also suck up blood.'

This is all that need be quoted from Mr.
Crome's papers. Sir Matthew Fell was duly
coffined and laid into the earth, and his
funeral sermon, preached by Mr. Crome on the

96 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

following Sunday, has been printed under the
title of ' The Unsearchable Way ; or, Eng-
land's Danger and the Malicious Dealings of
Antichrist.' it being the Vicar's view, as well
as that most commonly held in the neighbour-
hood, that the Squire was tlie victim of a
recrudescence of the Popish Plot.

His son, Sir Matthew the second, succeeded
to the title and estates. And so ends the first
act of the Castringham tragedy. It is to be
mentioned, though the fact is not surprising,
that the new Baronet did not occupy the room
in which his father had died. Nor, indeed,
was it slept in by anyone but an occasional J
visitor during the whole of his occupation..«
He died in 1735, and I do not find that any-
thing particular marked his reign, save a
curiously constant mortality among his cattle
and live-stock in general, which showed
tendency to increase shghtly as time went on.

Those who are interested in the details willj
find a statistical account in a letter to theJ
Gentlemaii's Magazine of 1772, which draws!
the facts from the Baronet's own papers. He J

THE ASH-TREE 97

put an end to it at last by a very simple ex-
pedient, that of shutting up all his beasts in
sheds at night, and keeping no sheep in his
park. For he had noticed that nothing was
ever attacked that spent the night indoors.
After that the disorder confined itself to wild
birds, and beasts of chase. But as we have
no good account of the symptoms, and as
all-night watching was quite unproductive of
any clue, I do not dwell on what the Suflfolk
farmers called the * Castringham sickness.'

The second Sir Matthew died in 1785, as I
said, and was duly succeeded by his son, Sir
Richard. It was in his time that the great
family pew was built out on the north side of
the parish church. So large were the Squire's
ideas that several of the graves on that un-
hallowed side of the building had to be dis-
turbed to satisfy his requirements. Among
them was that of Mrs. Mothersole, the position
of which was accurately known, thanks to a
note on a plan of the church and yard, both
made by Mr. Crome.

A certain amount of interest was excited in

98 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

the village when it was known that the famous
witch, who was still remembered by a few, was
to be exhumed. And the feeling of surprise,
and indeed disquiet, was very strong when it
was found that, though her coffin was fairly
sound and unbroken, there was no trace what-
ever inside it of body, bones, or dust. Indeed,
it is a curious phenomenon, for at the time of
her burying no such things were dreamt of as
resurrection-men, and it is difficult to conceive
any rational motive for stealing a body other-
wise than for the uses of the dissecting-room.

The incident revived for a time all the
stories of witch-trials and of the exploits of
the witches, dormant for forty years, and Sir
Richard's orders that the coffin should be burnt
were thought by a good many to be rather
foolhardy, though they were duly carried out.

Sir Kichard was a pestilent innovator, it is
certain. Before his time the Hall had been a
fine block of the mellowest red brick ; but Sir
Richard had travelled in Italy and become
infected with the Italian taste, and, having
more money than his predecessors, he deter-

THE ASH-TREE 99

mined to leave an Italian palace where he had
found an English house. So stucco and ashlar
masked the brick; some indifferent Roman
marbles were planted about in the entrance-
hall and gardens ; a reproduction of the Sibyl's
temple at Tivoli was erected on the opposite
bank of the mere ; and Castringham took an
entirely new, and, I must say, a less engaging,
aspect. But it was much admired, and served
as a model to a good many of the neighbour-
ing gentry in after-years.

One morning, (it was in 1754) Sir Richard
woke after a night of discomfort. It had been
windy, and his chimney had smoked per-
sistently, and yet it was so cold that he must
keep up a fire. Also something had so rattled
about the window that no man could get a
moment's peace. Further, there was the
prospect of several guests of position arriving
in the course of the day, who would expect
sport of some kind, and the inroads of the
distemper (which continued among his game)
had been lately so serious that he was afraid

7—2

100 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

for his reputation as a game-preserver. But
what really touched him most nearly was the
other matter of his sleepless night. He could
certainly not sleep in that room again.

That was the chief subject of his meditations
at breakfast, and after it he began a systematic
examination of the rooms to see which would
suit his notions best. It was long before he
foimd one. This had a window with an eastern
aspect and that with a northern ; this door the
servants would be always passing, and he did
not like the bedstead in that. No, he must
have a room with a western look-out, so that
the sun could not wake him early, and it must
be out of the way of the business of the house.
The housekeeper was at the end of her
resources.

*Well, Sir Richard,' she said, *you know
that there is but the one room like that in the
house.'

* Which may that be ?' said Sir Richard.

'And that is Sir Matthew's — the West
Chamber.'

'Well, put me in there, for there I'll lie

THE ASH-TREE 101

to-night,' said her master. ' Which way is it ?
Here, to be sure ;' and he hurried off.

* Oh, Sir Richard, but no one has slept there
these forty years. The air has hardly changed
since Sir Matthew died there.'

Thus she spoke, and rustled after him.

* Come, open the door, Mrs. Chiddock. I'll
see the chamber, at least.'

So it was opened, and, indeed, the smell was
very close and earthy. Sir Richard crossed to
the window, and, inipatiently, as was his wont,
threw the shutters back, and flimg open the
casement. For this end of the house was one
which the alterations had barely touched, grown
up as it was with the great ash-tree, and being
otherwise concealed from view.

* Air it, Mrs. Chiddock, all to-day, and move
my bed-furniture in in the afternoon. Put
the Bishop of Kilmore in my old room.'

* Pray, Sir Richard,' said a new voice, break-
ing in on this speech, * might I have the favour
of a moment's interview V

Sir Richard turned round and saw a man
in black in the doorway, who bowed.

102 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

* I must ask your indulgence for this intru-
sion. Sir Kichard. You will, perhaps, hardly
remember me. My name is William Crome,
and my grandfather was Vicar here in your
grandfather's time.'

* Well, sir,' said Sir Richard, * the name of
Crome is always a passport to Castringham.
I am glad to renew a friendship of two genera-
tions' standing. In what can I serve you ? for
your hour of calling — and, if I do not mis-
take you, your bearing — shows you to be in
some haste.'

' That is no more than the truth, sir. I am
riding from Norwich to Bury St. Edmunds
with what haste I can make, and I have called
in on my way to leave with you some papers
which we have but just come upon in looking
over what my grandfather left at his death.
It is thought you may find some matters of
family interest in them.'

*You are mighty obliging, Mr. Crome,
and, if you will be so good as to follow me to
the parlour, and drink a glass of wine, we will
take a first look at these same papers

THE ASH-TREE 103

together. And you, Mrs. Chiddock, as I said,
be about airing this chamber. . . . Yes, it is
here my grandfather died. . . . Yes, the tree,
perhaps, does make the place a little dampish.
. . . No ; I do not wish to listen to any more.
Make no difficulties, I beg. You have your
orders — ^go. Will you follow me, sir V

They went to the study. The packet
which yoimg Mr. Crome had brought — he was
then just become a Fellow of Clare Hall
in Cambridge, I may say, and subsequently
brought out a respectable edition of Polyaenus
— contained among other things the notes
which the old Vicar had made upon the occa-
sion of Sir Matthew Fell's death. And for
the first time Su- Richard was confronted with
the enigmatical Sortes BibUcce which you
have heard. They amused him a good deal.

*Well,' he said, *my grandfather's Bibl^
gave one prudent piece of advice — Cut it
down. If that stands for the ash-tree, he may
rest assured I shall not neglect it. Such a
nest of catarrhs and agues was never seen.'

The parlour contained the family books.

104 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

which, pending the arrival of a collection
which Sir Richard had made in Italy, and the
building of a proper room to receive them,
were not many in number.

Sir Richard looked up from the paper to the
bookcase.

* I wonder,' says he, * whether the old
prophet is there yet ? I fancy I see him.'

Crossing the room, he took out a dumpy
Bible, which, sure enough, bore on the flyleaf
the inscription : * To Matthew Fell, from his
LiOving Godmother, Anne Aldous, 2 September,
1659.'

* It would be no bad plan to test him again,
Mr. Crome. I will wager we get a couple of
names in the Chronicles. H'm I what have we
here ? " Thou shalt seek me in the morning,
and I shall not be." WeU, well ! Your grand-
father would have made a fine omen of that,
hey ? No more prophets for me I They are
all in a tale. And now, Mr. Crome, I am
infinitely obliged to you for your packet. You
will, I fear, be impatient to get on. Pray
allow me — another glass.'

THE ASH-TREE 105

So with offers of hospitality, which were
genuinely meant (for Sir Richard thought well
of the young man's address and manner) they
parted.

In the afternoon came the guests — ^the
Bishop of Kilmore, Lady Mary Hervey, Sir
William Kentfield, etc. Dinner at five, wine,
cards, supper, and dispersal to bed.

Next morning Sir Richard is disinclined to
take his gun with the rest. He talks with the
Bishop of Kilmore. This prelate, unlike a
good many of the Irish Bishops of his day,
had visited his see, and, indeed, resided there,
for some considerable time. This morning, as
the two were walking along the terrace and
talking over the alterations and improvements
in the house, the Bishop said, pointing to the
window of the West Room :

* You could never get one of my Irish flock
to occupy that room. Sir Richard.'

* Why is that, my lord ? It is, in fact, my
own.'

* Well, our Irish peasantry will always have
it that it brings the worst of luck to sleep near

106 GHOST-STOREES OF AN ANTIQUARY

an ash-tree, and you have a fine growth of ash
not two yards from your chamber window.
Perhaps,' the Bishop went on, with a smile, * it
has given you a touch of its quality akeady,
for you do not seem, if I may say it, so much
the fresher for your night's rest as your friends
would like to see you.'

' That, or something else, it is true, cost me
my sleep from twelve to four, my lord. But
the tree is to come down to-morrow, so I shall
not hear much more from it.'

* I applaud your determination. It can
hardly be wholesome to have the air you
breathe strained, as it were, through all that
leafage.'

* Your lordship is right there, I think. But
I had not my window open last night. It was
rather the noise that went on — ^no doubt from
the twigs sweeping the glass — ^that kept me
open-eyed.'

* I think that can hardly be. Sir Richard.
Here — you see it from this point. None of
these nearest branches even can touch your
casement unless there were a gale, and there

THE ASH-TREE 107

was none of that last night. They miss the
panes by a foot.'

*No, sir, true. What, then, will it be, I
wonder, that scratched and rustled so — ^ay, and
covered the dust on my siU with Unes and
marks V

At last they agreed that the rats must have
come up through the ivy. That was the
Bishop's idea, and Sir Richard jumped at it.

So the day passed quietly, and night came,
and the party dispersed to their rooms, and
wished Sir Richard a better night.

And now we are in his bedroom, with the
light out and the Squire in bed. The room
is over the kitchen, and the night outside
still and warm, so the window stands open.

There is very little light about the bedstead,
but there is a strange movement there; it
seems as if Sir Richard were moving his head
rapidly to and fro with only the slightest
possible sound. And now you would guess,
so deceptive is the half-darkness, that he had
several heads, round and brownish, which
move back and forward, even as low as his

108 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

chest. It is a horrible illusion. Is it nothing
more ? There ! something drops off the bed
with a soft plump, like a kitten, and is out of
the window in a flash ; another— four— and
after that there is quiet again.

* Thxm shcdt seek me in the mornings and 1
shall not be.''

As with Sir Matthew, so with Sir Richard
— dead and black in his bed I

A pale and silent party of guests and
servants gathered under the ^window when
the news was known. Italian poisoners,
Popish emissaries, infected air — all these and
more guesses were hazarded, and the Bishop
of Kilmore looked at the tree, in the fork
of whose lower boughs a white tom-cat was
crouching, looking down the hollow which
years had gnawed in the trunk. It was
watching something inside the tree with great
interest.

Suddenly it got up and craned over the
hole. Then a bit of the edge on which it

THE ASH-TREE 109

stood gave way, and it went sUthering in.
Everyone looked up at the noise of the fall.

It is known to most of us that a cat can
cry ; but few of us have heard, I hope, such a
yell as came out of the trunk of the great
ash. Two or three screams there were — ^the
witnesses are not sure which — and then a
slight and muffled noise of some commotion
or struggling was all that came. But Lady
Mary Hervey fainted outright, and the house-
keeper stopped her ears and fled till she fell
on the terrace.

The Bishop of Kilmore and Sir William
Kentfield stayed.' Yet even they were daunted,
though it was only at the cry of a cat ; and
Sir William swallowed once or twice before
he could say :

* There is something more than we know of
in that tree, my lord. I am for an instant
search.'

And this was agreed upon. A ladder was
brought, and one of the gardeners went up,
and, looking down the hollow, could detect
nothing but a few dim indications of some-

110 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

thing moving. They got a lantern, and let it
down by a rope.

* We must get at the bottom of this. My
life upon it, my lord, but the secret of these
terrible deaths is there.'

Up went the gardener again with the
lantern, and let it down the hole cautiously.
They saw the yellow light upon his face as
he bent over, and saw his face struck with
an incredulous terror and loathing before he
cried out in a dreadful voice and fell back
from the ladder — ^where, happily, he was caught
by two of the men — ^letting the lantern fall
inside the tree.

He was in a dead faint, and it was some
time before any word could be got from him.

By then they had something else to look
at. The lantern must have broken at the
bottom, and the light in it caught upon dry
leaves and rubbish that lay there, for in a
few minutes a dense smoke began to come up,
and then flame ; and, to be short, the tree was
in a blaze.

The bystanders made a ring at some yards'

THE ASH-TREE 111

distance, and Sir William and the Bishop sent
men to get what weapons and tools they
could; for, clearly, whatever might be using
the tree as its lair would be forced out by
the fire.

So it was. First, at the fork, they saw a
round body covered with fire — ^the size of a
man's head — appear very suddenly, then seem
to collapse and fall back. This, five or six
times; then a similar ball leapt into the air
and fell on the grass, where after a moment it
lay still. The Bishop went as near as he dared
to it, and saw — ^what but the remains of an
enormous spider, veinous and seared I And,
as the fire binned lower down, more terrible
bodies like this began to break out from the
trunk, and it was seen that these were covered
with grayish hair.

All that day the ash burned, and imtil it
fell to pieces the men stood about it, and from
time to time killed the brutes as they darted
out. At last there was a long interval when
none appeared, and they cautiously closed in
and examined the roots of the tree.

112 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

* They found,' says the Bishop of KUmore,
* below it a rounded hollow place in the earth,
wherein were two or three bodies of these
creatures that had plainly been smothered by
the smoke ; and, what is to me more curious,
at the side of this den, against the wall, was
crouching the anatomy or skeleton of a
human being, with the sldn dried upon the
bones, having some remains of black hair,
which was pronounced by those that examined
it to be undoubtedly the body of a woman,
and clearly dead for a period of fifty years.'

NUMBER 13

113

NUMBER 13

Among the towns of Jutland, Viborg justly
holds a high place. It is the seat of a bishop-
ric ; it has a handsome but almost entirely
new cathedral, a charming garden, a lake of
great beauty, and many storks. Near it is
Hald, accounted one of the prettiest things in
Denmark; and hard by is Finderup, where
Marsk Stig murdered King Erik Clipping on
St. Cecilia's Day, in the year 1286. Fifty-six
blows of square-headed iron maces were traced
on Erik's skull when his tomb was opened in
the seventeenth century. But I am not
writing a guide-book.

There are good hotels in Viborg — ^Preisler's
and the Phoenix are all that can be desired.
But my cousin, whose experiences I have to
tell you now, went to the Golden Lion the

115 8—2

116 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

first time that he visited Viborg. He has not
been there since, and the foUowing pages wiU
perhaps explain the reason of his abstention.

The Golden Lion is one of the very few
houses in the town that were not destroyed
in the great fire of 1726, which practically
demoUshed the cathedral, the Sognekirke, the
Raadhuus, and so much else that was old and
interesting. It is a great red-brick house —
that is, the fi-ont is of brick, with corbie steps
on the gables and a text over the door ; but
the courtyard into which the omnibus drives
is of black and white wood and plaster.

The sun was declining in the heavens when
my cousin walked up to the door, and the light
smote full upon the imposing fa9ade of the
house. He was delighted with the old-
fashioned aspect of the place, and promised
himself a thoroughly satisfactory and amusing
stay in an inn so typical of old Jutland.

It was not business in the ordinary sense
of the word that had brought Mr. Anderson
to Viborg. He was engaged upon some re-
searches into the Church history of Denmark,

NUMBER 13 117

and it had come to his knowledge that in the
Kigsarkiv of Viborg there were papers, saved
from the fire, relating to the last days of
Roman CathoUcism in the comitry. He
proposed, therefore, to spend a considerable
time — ^perhaps as much as a fortnight or three
weeks — ^in examining and cop5dng these, and
he hoped that the Golden Lion would be able
to give him a room of sufficient size to serve
alike as a bedroom and a study. His wishes
were explained to the landlord, and, after a
certain amount of thought, the latter suggested
that perhaps it might be the best way for the
gentleman to look at one or two of the larger
rooms and pick one for himself. It seemed a
good idea.

The top floor was soon rejected as entailing
too much getting upstairs after the day's work ;
the second floor contained no room of exactly
the dimensions required ; but on the first floor
there was a choice of two or three rooms which
would, so far as size went, suit admirably.

The landlord was strongly in favour of
Number 17, but Mr. Anderson pointed out

118 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

that its windows commanded only the blank
wall of the next house, and that it would be
very dark in the afternoon. Either Number 12
or Number 14 would be better, for both of
them looked on the street, and the bright
evening light and the pretty view would more
than compensate him for the additional amount
of noise.
'\ Eventually Number 12 was selected. Like

its neighbours, it had three windows, all on one
side of the room ; it was fairly high and un-
usually long. There was, of course, no fire-
place, but the stove was handsome and rather
old — a cast-iron erection, on the side of which
was a representation of Abraham sacrificing
Isaac, and the inscription, '1 Bog Mose,
Cap. 22,' above. Nothing else in the room
was remarkable ; the only interesting picture
was an old coloured print of the town, date
about 1820.

Supper-time was approaching, but when
Anderson, refreshed by the ordinary ablutions,
descended the staircase, there were still a few
minutes before the bell rang. He devoted

NUMBER 13 119

them to examining the list of his fellow-lodgers.
As is usual in Denmark, their names were
displayed on a large blackboard, divided into
columns and lines, the numbers of the rooms
being painted in at the beginning of each line.
The list was not exciting. There was an advo-
cate, or Sagfbrer, a German, and some bagmen
from Copenhagen. The one and only point
which suggested any food for thought was the
absence of any Number 18 from the tale of the
rooms, and even this was a thing which Ander-
son had already noticed half a dozen times in
his experience of Danish hotels. He could not
help wondering whether the objection to that
particular number, common as it is, was so
widespread and so strong as to make it diffi-
cult to let a room so ticketed, and he resolved
to ask the landlord if he and his coUeagues in
the profession had actually met with many
clients who refused to be accommodated in the
thirteenth room.

He had nothing to tell me (I am giving the
story as I heard it from him) about what passed
at supper, and the evening, which was spent

120 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

in unpacking and arranging his clothes, books,
and papers, was not more eventful. Towards
eleven o'clock he resolved to go to bed, but
with him, as with a good many other people
nowadays, an almost necessary preliminary to
bed, if he meant to sleep, was the reading of a
few pages of print, and he now remembered
that the particular book which he had been
reading in the train, and which alone would
satisfy him at that present moment, was in the
pocket of his great-coat, then hanging on a peg
outside the dining-room.

To run down and secure it was the work of a
moment, and, as the passages were by no means
dark, it was not difficult for him to find his
way back to his own door. So, at least, he
thought; but when he arrived there, and
tinned the handle, the door entirely refused
to open, and he caught the sound of a hasty
movement towards it from within. He had
tried the wrong door, of course. Was his own
room to the right or to the left ? He glanced
at the number : it was 13. His room would
be on the left ; and so it was. And not before

NUMBER 13 121

he had been in bed for some minutes, had read
his wonted three or four pages of his book,
blown out his light, and turned over to go to
sleep, did it occur to him that, whereas on the
blackboard of the hotel there had been no
Number 13, there was undoubtedly a room
numbered 18 in the hotel. He felt rather
sorry he had not chosen it for his own. Per-
haps he might have done the landlord a little
service by occupying it, and given him the
chance of saying that a well-bom English
gentleman had lived in it for three weeks and
liked it very much. But probably it was used
as a servapt's room or something of the kind.
After all, it was most likely not so large or
good a room as his own. And he looked
drowsily about the room, which was fairly per-
ceptible in the half-light from the street-lamp.
It was a curious effect, he thought. Rooms
usually look larger in a dim light than a full
one, but this seemed to have contracted in
length and grown proportionately higher.
Well, well I sleep was more important than
these vague ruminations — and to sleep he went.

122 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

On the day after his arrival Anderson at-
tacked the Rigsarkiv of Viborg. He was, as
one might expect in Denmark, kindly re-
ceived, and access to all that he wished to see
was made as easy for him as possible. The
documents laid before him were far more
nimaerous and interesting than he had at all
anticipated. Besides official papers, there was
a large bundle of correspondence relating to
Bishop Jorgen Friis, the last Roman Catholic
who held the see, and in these there cropped
up many amusing and what are called * inti-
mate' details of private life and individual
character. There was much talk of a house
owned by the Bishop, but not inhabited by
him, in the town. Its tenant was apparently
somewhat of a scandal and a stumbling-block
to the reforming party. He was a disgrace,
they wrote, to the city ; he practised secret
and wicked arts, and had sold his soul to the
enemy. It was of a piece with the gross cor-
ruption and superstition of the Babylonish
Church that such a viper and blood-sucking
Troldmand should be patronized and harboured

NUMBER 13 123

by the Bishop. The Bishop met these re-
proaches boldly ; he protested his own abhor-
rence of all such things as secret arts, and
required his antagonists to bring the matter
before the proper court — of course, the spiritual
court — and sift it to the bottom. No one
could be more ready and willing than himself
to condemn Mag. Nicolas Francken if the
evidence showed him to have been guilty of
any of the crimes informally alleged against
him.

Anderson had not time to do more than
glance at the next letter of the Protestant
leader, Rasmus Nielsen, before the record
office was closed for the day, but he gathered
its general tenor, which was to the effect that
Christian men were now no longer bound by
the decisions of Bishops of Rome, and that
the Bishop's Court was not, and could not be,
a fit or competent tribunal to judge so grave
and weighty a cause.

On leaving the office, Mr. Anderson was
accompanied by the old gentleman who pre-
sided over it, and, as they walked, the conver-

124 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

sation very naturally turned to the papers of
which I have just been speaking.

Herr Scavenius, the Archivist of Viborg,
though very well informed as to the general
run of the documents under his charge, was not
a specialist in those of the Reformation period.
He was much interested in what Anderson
had to tell him about them. He looked for-
ward with great pleasure, he said, to seeing
the publication in which Mr. Anderson spoke
of embodying their contents. * This house of
the Bishop Friis,' he added, * it is a great puzzle
to me where it can have stood. I have studied
carefully the topography of old Viborg, but it
is most unlucky — of the old terrier of , the
Bishop's property which was made in 1560,
and of which we have the greater part in the
Arkiv, just the piece which had the Ust of the
town property is missing. Never mind. Per-
haps I shall some day succeed to find him.'

After taking some exercise — I forget ex-
actly how or where — Anderson went back to
the Golden Lion, his supper, his game of
patience, and his bed. On the way to his

NUMBER 13 186

room it occurred to him that he had forgotten
to talk to the landlord about the omission of
Number 18 from the hotel board, and also
that he might as well make sure that
Number 18 did actually exist before he made
any reference to the matter.

The decision was not difficult to arrive at.
There was the door with its number as plain
as could be, and work of some kind was
evidently gomg on inside it, for as he neaxed
the door he could hear footsteps and voices,
or a voice, within. During the few seconds in
which he halted to make sure of the number,
the footsteps ceased, seemingly very near the
door, and he was a little startled at hearing a
quick hissing breathing as of a person in
strong excitement. He went on to his own
room, and again he was surprised to find how
much smaller it seemed now than it had when
he selected it. It was a slight disappoint-
ment, but only slight. If he found it really
not large enough, he could very easily shift
to another. In the meantime he wanted
something-as far as I remember it was a

186 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

pocket-handkerchief — out of his portmanteau,
which had been placed by the porter on a
very inadequate trestle or stool against the
wall at the furthest end of the room from
his bed. Here was a very curious thing:
the portmanteau was not to be seen. It had
been moved by officious servants; doubtless
the contents had been put in the wardrobe.
No, none of them were there. This was
vexatious. The idea of a theft he dismissed
at once. Such things rarely happen in Den-
mark, but some piece of stupidity had
certainly been performed (which is not so
uncommon), and the sttiepige must be
severely spoken to. Whatever it was that
he wanted, it was not so necessary to his
comfort that he could not wait till the morn-
ing for it, and he therefore settled not to ring
the bell and disturb the servants. He went
to the window— the right-hand window it
was — and looked out on the quiet street.
There was a tall building opposite, with large
spaces of dead wall ; no passers by ; a dark
night ; and very little to be seen of any kind.

NUMBER 13 127

The light was behmd him, and he could
see his own shadow clearly cast on the wall
opposite. Also the shadow of the bearded
man in Number 11 on the left, who passed to
and fro in shirtsleeves once or twice, and was
seen first brushing his hair, and later on in a
nightgown. Also the shadow of the occupant
of Number 13 on the right. This might be
more interesting. Number 18 was, like him-
self, leaning on his elbows on the window-sill
looking out into the street. He seemed to
be a tall thin man — or was it by any chance
a woman? — at least, it was someone who
covered his or her head with some kind of
drapery before going to bed, and, he thought,
must be possessed of a red lamp-shade — ^and
the lamp must be flickering very much.
There was a distinct playing up and down of
a dull red light on the opposite wall. He
craned out a little to see if he could make
any more of the figure, but beyond a fold of
some light, perhaps white, material on the
window-sill he could see nothing.

Now came a distant step in the street, and

128 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

its approach seemed to recall Number 13 to a
sense of his exposed position, for very swiftly
and suddenly he swept aside from the window,
and his red light yfent out. Anderson, who
had been smoking a cigarette, laid the end of
it on the window-sill and went to bed.

Next morning he was woke by the stuepige
with hot water, etc. He roused himself, and
after thinking out the correct Danish words,
said as distinctly as he could :

*You must not move my portmanteau.
Where is it V

As is not uncommon, the maid laughed,
and went away without making any distinct
answer.

Anderson, rather irritated, sat up in bed,
intending to call her back, but he remained
sitting up, staring straight in front of him.
There was his portmanteau on its trestle,
exactly where he had seen the porter put it
when he first arrived. This was a rude shock
for a man who prided himself on his accuracy
of observation. How it could possibly have
escaped him the night before he did, not

NUMBER IS 129

pretend to understand; at any rate, there it
was now.

The daylight showed more than the port-
manteau ; it let the true proportions of the
room with its three windows appear, and satis-
fied its tenant that his choice after all had not
been a bad one. Wlien he was almost dressed
he walked to the middle one of the three
windows to look out at the weather. Another
shock awaited him. Strangely unobservant he
must have been last night. He could have
sworn ten times over that he had been smoking
at the right-hand window the last thing before
he went to bed, and here was his cigarette-end
on the sill of the middle window.
' He started to go down to breakfast. Rather
late, but Number 13 was later : here were his
boots still outside his door — ^a gentleman's
boots. So then Number 18 was a man, not a
woman. Just then he caught sight of the
number on the door. It was 14. He thought
he must have passed Number 18 without
noticing it. Three stupid mistakes in twelve
hours were too much for a methodical, accurate-

180 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

minded man, so he turned back to make sure.
The next number to 14 was number 12, his
own room. There was no Number 13 at alL

After some minutes devoted to a carefiil
consideration of everything he had had to eat
and drink during the last twenty-four hours,
Anderson decided to give the question up. If
his eyes or his brain were giving way he would
have plenty of opportunities for ascertaining
that fact ; if not, then he was evidently being
treated to a very interesting experience. In
either case the development of events would
certainly be worth watching.

During the day he continued his examina-
tion of the episcopal correspondence which I
have already summarized. To his disappoint-
ment, it was incomplete. Only one other
letter could be found which referred to the
affair of Mag. Nicolas Francken. It was
from the Bishop Jorgen Friis to Rasmus
Nielsen. He said :

•Although we are not in the least degree
inclined to assent to your judgment concerning
our court, and shall be prepared if need be to

NUMBER 18 131

withstand you to the uttermost in that behalf,
yet forasmuch as our trusty and well-beloved
Mag. Nicolas Francken, against whom you
have dared to allege certain false and malicious
charges, hath been suddenly removed from
among us, it is apparent that the question
for this term falls. But forasmuch as you
fiirther allege that the Apostle and Evangelist
St. John in his heavenly Apocalypse describes
the Holy Roman Church under the guise and
symbol of the Scarlet Woman, be it known to
you,' etc.

Search as he would, Anderson could find
no sequel to this letter nor any clue to
the cause or manner of the * removal ' of the
castis beUi. He could only suppose that
Francken had died suddenly; and as there
were only two days between the date of
Nielsen's last letter — when Francken was
evidently still in being — and that of the
Bishop's letter, the death must have been
completely unexpected.

In the afternoon he paid a short visit to
Hald, and took his tea at Baekkelund ; nor

9—2

188 GHOST-STOREES OF AN ANTIQUAKY

could he notice, though he was in a somewhat
nervous frame of mind, that there was any
indication of such a failure of eye or brain as
his experiences of the mommg had led him
to fear.

At supper he found himself next to the
landlord.

What,' he asked him, after some indifferent
conversation, * is the reason why in most of the
hotels one visits in this country the number
thirteen is left out of the list of rooms ? I see
you have none here.*

The landlord seemed amused.

*To think that you should have noticed a
thing like that 1 I've thought about it once
or twice myself, to tell the truth. An educated
man, I've said, has no business with these
superstitious notions. I was brought up
myself here in the high school of Viborg, and
our old master was always a man to set his face
against anything of that kind. He's been dead
now this many years— a fine upstanding man
he was, and ready with his hands as well as his
head. I recollect us boys, one snowy day '

NUMBER 18 188

Here he plunged into reminiscence.

*Then you don't think there is any par-
ticular objection to having a Number 18?*
said Anderson.

* Ah 1 to be sure. Well, you understand, I
was brought up to the business by my poor old
father. He kept an hotel in Aarhuus first, and
then, when we were born, he moved to Viborg
here, which was his native place, and had the
Phcenix here untU he died. That was in
1876. Then I started business in Silkeborg,
and only the year before last I moved into this
house.'

Then followed more details as to the state
of the house and business when Grst taken
over.

*And when you came here, was there a
Number 13 V

' No, no. I was going to tell you about
that. You see, in a place like this, the com-
mercial class — ^the travellers — are what we have
to provide for in general. And put them in
Number 18 ? Why, they'd as soon sleep in
the street, or sooner. As far as I'm concerned

184 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

myself, it wouldn't make a pemiy difference to
me what the number of my room was, and so
I've often said to them ; but they stick to it
that it brings them bad luck. Quantities of
stories they have among them of men that
have slept in a Number 18 and never been the
same again, or lost their best customers, or —
one thing and another,' said the landlord, after
searching for a more graphic phrase.

' Then, what do you use your Number 13
for V said Anderson, conscious as he said the
words of a curious anxiety quite disproportion-
ate to the importance of the question.

' My Number 18 ? Why, don't I tell you
that there isn't such a thing in the house ? I
thought you might have noticed that. If
there was it would be next door to your own
room.'

* Well, yes ; only I happened to think —
that is, I fancied last night that I had seen a
door numbered thirteen in that passage ; and,
really, I am almost certain I must have been
right, for I saw it the night before as well.'

Of course, Herr Kristensen laughed this

NUMBER 13 186

notion to scorn, as Anderson had expected, and
emphasized with much iteration the fact that
no Number 18 existed or had existed before
him in that hotel.

Anderson was in some ways relieved by
his certamty, but stiU puzzled, and he began
to think that the best way to make sure
whether he had indeed been subject to an
illusion or not was to invite the landlord to
his room to smoke a cigar later on in the
evening. Some photographs of English towns
which he had with him formed a sufficiently
good excuse.

Herr Kristensen was flattered by the invita-
tion, and most willingly accepted it. At about
ten o'clock he was to make his appearance, but
before that Anderson had some letters to write,
and retired for the purpose of writing them.
He almost blushed to himself at confessing it,
but he could not deny that it was the fact that
he was becoming quite nervous about the
question of the existence of Number 18 ; so
much so that he approached his room by way
of Number 11, in order that he might not be

136 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

obliged to pass the door, or the place wha
the door ought to be. He looked quid
and suspiciously about the room when
entered it, but there was nothing, beyond thi
indefinable air of being smaller than usual, to
warrant any misgivings. There was no question
of the presence or absence of his portmanteau
to-night. He had himself emptied it of its
contents and lodged it under his bed. With
a certain effort he dismissed the thought of
Number 13 from his mmd, and sat down to his
writing.

His neighbours were quiet enough. Oci
sionally a door opened in the passage and
pair of boots was thrown out, or a bagmi
walked past humming to himself, and outside,*
from time to time a cart thundered over the
atrocious cobble-stones, or a quick step hurrii
along the flags.

Anderson finished his letters, ordered
whisky and soda, and then went to the windo^
and studied the dead wall opposite and tl
shadows upon it.

As far as he could remember. Number 1<

of
hi s I

NUMBER 13 137

had been occupied by the lawyer, a staid man,
who said Uttle at meals, being generaUy
engaged in studying a smaU bundle of papers
beside his plate. Apparently, however, he was
in the habit of giving vent to his animal spirits
when alone. Why else should he be dancing?
The shadow from the next room evidently
showed that he was. Again and again his thin
form crossed the window, his arms waved, and
a gamit leg was kicked up with surprising
agility. He seemed to be barefooted, and the
floor must be well laid, for no sound betrayed
his movements. Sagforer Herr Anders Jensen,
dancing at ten o'clock at night in a hotel bed-
room, seemed a fitting subject for a historical
painting in the grand style ; and Anderson's
thoughts, like those of Emily in the * Mys-
teries of Udolpho,' began to * arrange them-
selves in the following lines ' :

* When I return to my hotel,

At ten o^clock p.m..
The waiters think I am unwell ;

I do not care for them.
But when Fve locked my chamber door,

And put my boots outside.

188 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

I dasoe all nig^ tipoo the floor.
And even if my neig^iboon swore,
rd go on dandng aU the more.
For Fm acquainted with the law.
And in despite of all their jaw.
Their protests I deride.^

Had not the landlord at this mom^it
knocked at the door, it is probable that quite
a long poem might have been laid before the
reader. To judge from his look of surprise
when he found himself in the room, Herr
Kristensen was struck, as Anderson had been,
by something unusual in its aspect. But he
made no remark. Anderson's photoCTaphs in-
^rested hu„ ^ightUy, and forced ^^ of
many autobiographical discourses. Nor is it
quite clear how the conversation could have
been diverted into the desired channel of
Number 18, had not the lawyer at this moment
begun to sing, and to sing in a manner which
could leave no doubt in anyone's mind that he
was either exceedingly drunk or raving mad.
It was a high, thin voice that they heard, and
it seemed dry, as if from long disuse. Of words
or tune there was no question. It went sailing

NUMBER 18 139

up to a surprising height, and was carried down
withadespamngmoan as of awinterwind ina
hollow chimney, or an organ whose wind fails
suddenly. It was a really horrible sound, and
Anderson felt that if he had been alone he
must have fled for refiige and society to some
neighbour bagman's room.

The landlord sat open-mouthed.

^ I don't understand it/ he said at last,
wiping his forehead. ' It is dreadful. I have
heard it once before, but I made sure it was
a cax*

* Is he mad ?' said Anderson.

^ He must be ; and what a sad thing ! Such
a good customer, too, and so successful in his
business, by what I hear, and a young family
to bring up.'

Just then came an impatient knock at the
door, and the knocker entered, without waiting
to be asked. It was the lawyer, in deshabille
and very rough-haired ; and very angry he
looked.

' I beg pardon, sir,' he said, ' but I should be
much obliged if you would kindly desist '

140 GHOST-SrrOBIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

Here he stopped, for it was evident
that neither of the persons before him was
responsible for the disturbance ; and after a
moment's lull it swelled forth again more
wildly than before.

* But what in the name of Heaven does it
mean V broke out the lawyer. * Where is it ?
Who is it ? Am I going out of my mind V

* Surely, Herr Jensen, it comes from your
room next door ? Isn't there a cat or some-
thing stuck in the chimney V

This was the best that occurred to Anderson
to say, and he realized its futility as he spoke ;
but anything was better than to stand and
listen to that horrible voice, and look at the
broad, white face of the landlord, all perspir-
ing and quivering as he clutched the arms of
his chair.

^ Impossible,' said the lawyer, * impossible.
There is no chimney. I came here because I
was convinced the noise was going on here.
It was certainly in the next room to mine.'

' Was there no door between yours and
mine V said Anderson eagerly.

NUMBER 13 141

* No, sir,* said Herr Jensen, rather sharply.
* At least, not this morning.'

* Ah !' said Anderson. ' Nor to-night V

' I am not sure,' said the lawyer with some
hesitation.

Suddenly the crying or singing voice in the
next room died away, and the singer was heard
seemingly to laugh to himself in a crooning
manner. The three men actually shivered at
the sound. Then there was a silence.

* Come,' said the lawyer, * what have you to
say, Herr Kristensen ? What does this mean V

* Good Heaven !* said Kristensen. * How
should I tell! I know no more than you,
gentlemen. I pray I may never hear such a
noise again.'

^ So do I,' said Herr Jensen, and he
added something under his breath. Anderson
thought it sounded like the last words of the
Psalter, ^omnis spirittis laudet Domintmif' but
he could not be sure.

* But we must do something,* said Anderson
— * the three of us. Shall we go and investigate
in the next room V

142 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

* But that is Herr Jensen's room/ wailed the
landlord. * It is no use ; he has come from
there himself.'

^ I am not so sure/ said Jensen. ^ I think
this gentleman is right : we must go and see.'

The only weapons of defence that could be
mustered on the spot were a stick and um-
brella. The expedition went out into the
passage, not without quakings. There was a
deadly quiet outside, but a light shone from
under the next door. Anderson and Jensen
approached it. The latter turned the handle,
and gave a sudden vigorous push. No use.
The door stood fast.

* Herr Kristensen,' said Jensen, ^ will you go
and fetch the strongest servant you have in the
place ? We must see this through.'

The landlord nodded, and hurried off, glad
to be away from the scene of action. Jensen
and Anderson remained outside looking at the
door.

* It is Number 13, you see,' said the latter.

* Yes ; there is your door, and there is mine,'
said Jensen.

NUMBER 13 148

'My room has three windows m the day-
time/ said Anderson, with difficulty suppress-
ing a nervous laugh.

' By George, so has mine I' said the lawyer,
turning and looking at Anderson. His back
was now to the door. In that moment the
door opened, and an arm came out and clawed
at his shoulder. It was clad in ragged,
yellowish linen, and the bare skin, where it
could be seen, had long gray hair upon it.

Anderson was just in time to puUJensen out
of its reach with a cry of disgust and fright,
when the door shut again, and a low laugh
was heard.

Jensen had seen nothing, but when Anderson
hurriedly told him what a risk he had run, he
fell into a great state of agitation, and sug-
gested that they should retire from the enter-
prise and lock themselves up in one or other
of their rooms.

However, while he was developing this
plan, the landlord and two able-bodied men
arrived on the scene, all looking rather serious
and alarmed. Jensen met them with a torrent

144 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY '

of description and explanation, wliich did not
at all tend to encourage them for the fray.

The men dropped the crowbars they
brought, and said flatly that they were
going to risk their throats in that devil's d)
The landlord was miserably nervous and
decided, conscious that if the danger were
faced his hotel was ruined, and very loath to
face it himself. Luckily Anderson hit upon;
way of rallying the demoralized force.

' Is this,' he said, ' the Danish courage I
heard so much of ? It isn't a German in th(
and if it was, we are five to one.'

The two servants and Jensen were stung
action by tliis, and made a dash at the door.

' Stop !' said Anderson. ' Don't lose youT
heads. You stay out here with the light,
landlord, and one of you two men break
the door, and don't go in when it gives way.'

The men nodded, and the younger steppi
forward, raised his crowbar, and dealt
tremendous blow on the upper panel. The
result was not in the least what any of them
anticipated. There was no cracking or rending

n(^^

ht.

NUMBER IS 146

of wood — only a dull sound, as if the solid
wall had been struck. The man dropped his
tool with a shout, and began rubbing his elbow.
His cry drew their eyes upon him for a moment ;
then Anderson looked at the door again. It
was gone; the plaster wall of the passage
stared him in the face, with a considerable
gash in it where the crowbar had struck it.
Number 13 had passed out of existence.

For a brief space they stood perfectly still,
gazing at the blank wall. An early cock in

the yard beneath was heard to crow ; and as
Anderson glanced in the direction of the sound,
he saw through the window at the end of the
long passage that the eastern sky was paling
to the dawn.

^p ^^ ^r ^^ ^^

' Perhaps,' said the landlord, with hesitation,
* you gentlemen would like another room for
to-night — a double-bedded one V

Neither Jensen nor Anderson was averse to
the suggestion. They felt inclined to hunt in
couples after their late experience. It was
found convenient, when each of them went to

146 GHOST^TORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

his room to collect the articles he wanted for
the night, that the other should go with him
and hold the candle. They noticed that both
Number 12 and Number 14 had three windows.

Next morning the same party re-assembled
in Number 12. The landlord was naturally
anxious to avoid engaging outside help, and
yet it was imperative that the mystery attach-
ing to that part of the house should be cleared
up. Accordingly the two servants had been
induced to take upon them the function of
carpenters. The furniture was cleared away,
and, at the cost of a good many irretrievably
damaged planks, that portion of the floor was
taken up which lay nearest to Number 14.

You will naturally suppose that a skeleton
— say that of Mag. Nicolas Francken — was
discovered. That was not so. What they did
find lying between the beams which supported
the flooring was a small copper box. In it was
a neatly-folded vellum document, with about
twenty lines of writing. Both Anderson and
Jensen (who proved to be something of a

NUMBER 13 147

palaeographer) were much excited by this dis-
covery, which promised to afford the key to
these extraordinary phenomena.

^ J^ J|U ^ J^

T^ TP tP t^ TP

I possess a copy of an astrological work
which I have never read. It has, by way of
frontispiece, a woodcut by Hans Sebald
Beham, representing a number of sages seated
round a table. This detail may enable con-
noisseurs to identify the book. I cannot my-
self recollect its title, and it is not at this
moment within reach ; but the fly-leaves of it
are covered with writing, and, during the ten
years in which I have owned the volume, I
have not been able to determine which way
up this writing ought to be read, much less
in what language it is. Not dissimilar was
the position of Anderson and Jensen after the
protracted examination to which they sub-
mitted the document in the copper box.

After two days' contemplation of it, Jensen,
who was the bolder spirit of the two, hazarded
the conjecture that the language was either
Latin or Old Danish.

10—2

148 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

Anderson ventured upon no surmises, and
was very willing to surrender the box and the
parchment to the Historical Society of Viborg
to be placed in their museum.

I had the whole story from him a few
months later, as we sat in a wood near Upsala,
after a visit to the library there, where we —
or, rather, I — had laughed over the contract by
which Daniel Salthenius (in later life Professor
of Hebrew at Konigsberg) sold himself to
Satan. Anderson was not really amused.

* Young idiot !' he said, meaning Salthenius,
who was only an undergraduate when he conl-
mitted that indiscretion, ^how did he know
what company he was courting V

And when I suggested the usual considera-
tions he only grunted. That same afternoon
he told me what you have read; but he
refused to draw any inferences from it, and
to assent to any that I drew for him.

COUNT MAGIOJS

\49

COUNT MAGNUS

By what means the papers out of which I have
made a eomieeted story came into my hands
is the last point which the reader will learn from
these pages. But it is necessary to prefix to
my extracts from them a statement of the form
in which I possess them.

They consist, then, partly of a series of
collections for a book of travels, such a
volume as was a common product of the forties
and fifties. Horace Marryat's * Journal of a
Residence in Jutland and the Danish Isles ' is
a fair specimen of the class to which I allude.
These books usually treated of some un-
known district on the Continent. They were
illustrated with woodcuts or steel plates. They
gave details of hotel accommodation, and of
means of communication, such as we now

151

162 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

expect to find in any well-regulated guide-book,
and they dealt largely in reported conversations
with intelligent foreigners, racy innkeepers and
garrulous peasants. In a word, they were
ehatty.

Begun with the idea of furnishing material
for such a book, my papers as they progressed
assumed the character of a record of one single
personal experience, and this record was con-
tinued up to within a very short time from its
termination.

The writer was a Mr. WraxalL For my
knowledge of him I have to depend entirely
on the evidence his writings afFord, and from
these I deduce that he was a man past
middle age, possessed of some private means,
and very much alone in the world. He had,
it seems, no settled abode in England, but was
a denizen of hotels and boarding-houses. It is
probable that he entertained the idea of settling
down at some future time which never came ;
and I think it also likely that the Pantechnicon
fire in the early seventies must have destroyed
a great deal that would have thrown light

COUNT MAGNUS 163

on his antecedents, for he refers once or twice
to property of his that was warehoused at
that establishment.

It is further apparent that Mr. WraxaU had
published a book, and that it treated of a
hoUday he had once taken in Britanny. More
than this I cannot say about his work, because
a diligent search in bibliographical works has
convinced me that it must have appeared either
anonymously or under a pseudonjma.

As to his character, it is not difficult to form
some superficial opinion. He must have been
an intelligent and cultivated man. It seems
that he was near being a Fellow of his college
at Oxford — Brasenose, as I judge from the
Calendar. His besetting fault was pretty clearly
that of over-inquisitiveness, possibly a good
fault in a traveller, certainly a fault for which
our traveller paid dearly enough in the end.

On what proved to be his last expedition,
he was plotting another book. Scandinavia, a
region not widely known to Englishmen forty
years ago, had struck him as an interesting
field. He must have alighted on some old

164 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

books of Swedish history or memoirs, and the
idea had struck him that there was room for a
book descriptive of travel in Sweden, inter-
spersed with episodes firom the history of some
of the great Swedish families. He procured
letters of introduction, therefore, to some
persons of quality in Sweden, and set out
thither in the early smnmer of 1868.

Of his travels in the North there is no need
to speak, nor of his residence of some weeks in
Stockholm. I need only mention that some
savant resident there put him on the track
of an important collection of family papers
belonging to the proprietors of an ancient
manor-house in Vestergothland, and obtained
for him permission to examine them.

The manor-house, or herrgardj in question
is to be called Raback (pronounced something
like Roebeck), though that is not its name.
It is one of the best buildings of its kind
in all the country, and the picture of it in
Dahlenberg's Suecia antiqua et moderna^ en-
graved in 1694, shows it very much as the
tourist may see it to-day. It was built soon

COUNT MAGNUS 155

after 1600, and is, roughly speakings very much
like an English house of that period in respect
of material — red-brick with stone facings — and
style. The man who built it was a scion of
the great house of De la Gardie, and his
descendants possess it stilL De la Gardie is
the name by which I will designate them when
mention of them becomes necessary.

They received Mr. Wraxall with great kind-
ness and courtesy, and pressed him to stay in
the house as long as his researches lasted. But,
preferring to be independent, and mistrusting
his powers of conversing in Swedish, he settled
himself at the village inn, which turned out
quite sufficiently comfortable, at any rate
during the summer months. This arrangement
would entail a short walk daily to and from the
manor-house of something under a mile. The
house itself stood in a park, and was protected
— we should say grown up — ^with large old
timber. Near it you found the walled garden,
and then entered a close wood fringing one of
the small lakes with which the whole country
is pitted. Then came the wall of the demesne.

156 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

and you climbed a steep knoU — a knob of
rock lightly covered with soil — and on the top
of this stood the church, fenced in with tall
dark trees. It was a curious building to
English eyes. The nave and aisles were low,
and filled with pews and galleries. In the
western gallery stood the handsome old organ,
gaily painted, and with silver pipes. The
ceiling was flat, and had been adorned by
a seventeenth-century artist with a strange
and hideous * Last Judgment,' full of lurid
flames, falling cities, burning ships, crying
souls, and brown and smiling demons.
Handsome brass coronae hung from the
roof; the pulpit was like a doll's - house,
covered with little painted wooden cherubs
and saints; a stand with three hour-glasses
was hinged to the preacher's desk. Such
sights as these may be seen in many a
church in Sweden now, but what distinguished
this one was an addition to the original build-
ing. At the eastern end of the north aisle the
builder of the manor-house had erected a
mausoleum for himself and his family. It was

COUNT MAGNUS 167

a largish eight-sided building, lighted by a series
of oval windows, and it had a domed roof,
topped by a kind of pumpkin -shaped object
rising into a spire, a form in which Swedish
architects greatly delighted. .The roof was of
copper externally, and was painted black, while
the walls, in common with those of the
church, were staringly white. To this mauso-
leum there was no access from the church. It
had a portal and steps of its own on the
northern side.

Past the churchyard the path to the village
goes, and not more than three or four minutes
bring you to the inn door.

On the first day of his stay at Raback
Mr. Wraxall found the church door open, and
made those notes of the interior which I have
epitomized. Into the mausoleum, however,
he could not make his way. He could by
looking through the keyhole just descry that
there were fine marble effigies and sarcophagi
of copper, and a wealth of armorial ornament,
which made him very anxious to spend some
time in investigation.

158 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

The papers he had come to examine at the
manor-house proved to be of just the kind he
wanted for his book. Th^re were family
correspondence, journals, and account-books
of the earliest owners of the estate, very care-
fiilly kept and clearly written, fiill of amusing
and picturesque detail. The first De la Gardie
appeared in them as a strong and capable man.
Shortly after the building of the mansion there
had been a period of distress in the district,
and the peasants had risen and attacked several
chateaux and done some damage. The owner
of Raback took a leading part in suppressing
the trouble, and there was reference to
executions of ringleaders and severe punish-
ments inflicted with no sparing hand.

The portrait of this Magnus de la Gardie
was one of the best in the house, and Mr.
Wraxall studied it with no little interest after
his day's work. He gives no detailed descrip-
tion of it, but I gather that the face impressed
him rather by its power than by its beauty or
goodness ; in fact, he writes that Count Mag-
nus was an almost phenomenally ugly man.

COUNT MAGNUS 159

On this day Mr. Wraxall took his supper
with the family, and walked back in the late
but still bright evening.

* I must remember,' he writes, ' to ask the
sexton if he can let me into the mausoleum at
the church. He evidently has access to it
himself, for I saw him to-night standing on
the steps, and, as I thought, locking or unlock-
ing the door.'

I find that early on the following day Mr.
Wraxall had some conversation with his land-
lord. His setting it down at such length as
he does surprised me at first ; but I soon
realized that the papers I was reading were, at
least in their beginning, the materials for the
book he was meditating, and that it was to
have been one of those quasi-journalistic pro-
ductions which admit of the introduction of
an admixture of conversational matter.

His object, he says, was to find out whether
any traditions of Count Magnus de la Gardie
lingered on in the scenes of that gentleman's
activity, and whether the popular esthnate of

•

him were favourable or not. He found that

160 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

the Count was decidedly not a favourite. If
his tenants came late to their work on the days
which they owed to him as Lord of the Manor,
they were set on the wooden horse, or flogged
and branded in the manor-house yard. One or
two cases there were of men who had occupied
lands which encroached on the lord's domain,
and whose houses had been mysteriously burnt
on a winter's night, with the whole family
inside. But what seemed to dwell on the inn-
keeper's mind most — for he returned to the
subject more than once — was that the Count
had been on the Black Pilgrimage, and had
brought something or someone back with
him.

You will naturally inquire, as Mr. Wraxall
did, what the Black Pilgrimage may have
been. But your curiosity on the point must
remain unsatisfied for the time being, just as
his did. The landlord was evidently unwilling
to give a fiiU answer, or indeed any answer, on
the point, and, being called out for a moment,
trotted out with obvious alacrity, only putting
his head in at the door a few minutes after-

COUNT MAGNUS 161

wards to say that he was called away to Skara,
and should not be back till evening.

So Mr. Wraxall had to go unsatisfied to
his day's work at the manor-house. The
papers on which he was just then engaged soon
put his thoughts into another channel, for he
had to occupy himself with glancing over the
correspondence between Sophia Albertina in
Stockholm and her married cousin Ulrica
Leonora at Raback in the years 1705-1710.
The letters were of exceptional interest from
the light they threw upon the culture of that
period in Sweden, as anyone can testify who
has read the full edition of them in the publi-
cations of the Swedish Historical Manuscripts
Commission.

In the afternoon he had done with these, and
after returning the boxes in which they were
kept to their places on the shelf, he proceeded,
very naturally, to take down some of the
volumes nearest to them, in order to determine
which of them had best be his principal subject
of investigation next day. The shelf he had hit
upon was occupied mostly by a collection of

162 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY '

account-books in the writing of the first Count
Magnus. But one among them was not an
account-book, but a book of alchemical
other tracts in another sixteenth-century hj
Not being very familiar with alchemical litera-
ture, Mr. Wraxall spends a good deal of space
which he might have spared in setting out
the names and beginnings of tlie various
treatises : The book of the Phoenix, book
the Thirty Words, book of the Toad, book
Miriam, Turba philosophorum, and so forth
and then he announces with a good deal of cir-
cumstance his delight at finding, on a leaf
originally left blank near the middle of the
book, some writing of Count Magnus himself
headed ' Liber nigrte peregrinationis.' It is true
that only a few lines were written, but there
was quite enough to show that the landlord
had that morning been referring to a belief at
least as old as the time of Count Magnus, and
probably shared by him. This is the Engl
of what was wTitten :

' If any man desires to obtain a long Hfe, if he
would obtain a faithful messenger and see the

t an I

lan^^l

tera- I
ice

lUt
lUS

and I
fhe I

COUNT MAGNUS 163

blood of his enemies, it is necessary that he
should first go into the city of Chorazin, and
there salute the prince. . . .' Here there was an
erasure of one word, not very thoroughly done,
so that Mr. Wraxall felt pretty sure that he was
right in reading it as a£ris (' of the air '). But
there was no more of the text copied, only a
line in Latin : * Quaere reliqua hujus materiel
inter secretiora ' (See the rest of this matter
among the more private things).

It could not be denied that this threw a
rather lurid light upon the tastes and beliefs
of the Count ; but to Mr. Wraxall, separated
from him by nearly three centuries, the thought
that he might have added to his general forceful-
ness alchemy, and to alchemy something like
magic, only made him a more picturesque
figure ; and when, after a rather prolonged con-
templation of his picture in the hall, Mr.
Wraxall set out on his homeward way, his mind
was fiill of the thought of Count Magnus.
He had no eyes for his surroundings, no per-
ception of the evening scents of the woods or
the evening light on the lake ; and when all of

11—2

164 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUAHY

a sudden he pulled up short, he was astonisho
to find himself already at the gate of 1
churchyard, and within a few minutes of hisa
dinner. His eyes fell on tlie mausoleum.

' Ah,' he said, ' Count Magnus, there ya
are. I should dearly like to see you.'

' Like many solitary men,' he WTites, ' I have
a habit of talking to myself aloud ; and, unhke
some of the Greek and I-^atin particles, I do
not expect an answer. Certainly, and perhaps
fortunately in this case, there was neither voice
nor any that regarded : only the woman who, I
suppose, was cleaning up the church, dropped
some metallic object on the floor, whose clai
startled me. Count Magnus, I think,
sound enough.'

That same evening the landlord of the i
who had heard Mr. Wraxall say that he wishe<
to see the clerk or deacon (as he would ]
called in Sweden) of the parish, introduee<
him to that official in tlie inn parlour,
visit to the De la Gardie tomb-house wot
soon arranged for the next day, and a httl^
general conversation ensued.

COUNT MAGNUS 166

Mr. Wraxall, remembering that one function
of Scandinavian deacons is to teach candidates
for Confirmation, thought he would refresh
his own memory on a Biblical point.

* Can you tell me,' he said, * anything about
Chorazin V

The deacon seemed startled, but readily
reminded him how that village had once been
denounced.

* To be sure,' said Mr. Wraxall ; * it is, I
suppose, quite a ruin now V

* So I expect,' replied the deacon. * 1 have
heard some of our old priests say that Anti-
christ is to be born there; and there are
tales- '

'Ah! what tales are those?' Mr. Wraxall
put in.

* Tales, I was going to say, which I have
forgotten,' said the deacon; and soon after
that he said good-night.

The landlord was now alone, and at Mr,
Wraxall's mercy; and that inquirer was not
inclined to spare him.

* Herr Nielsen,' he said, ^ I have foimd out

. 166 GHOST-STORBES OF AN ANTIQUARY

something about the Black Pilgrimage. You
may as well tell me what you know. What
did the Count bring back with him V

Swedes are habitually slow, perhaps, in
answering, or perhaps the landlord was an
exception. I am not sure ; but Mr. Wraxall
notes that the landlord spent at least one
minute in looking at him before he said any-
thing at all. Then he came close up to his
guest, and with a good deal of effort he
spoke :

* Mr. Wraxall, I can tell you this one little
tale, and no more — ^not any more. You must
not ask anything when I have done. In my
grandfather's time — that is, ninety-two years
ago — there were two men who said: "The
Count is dead ; we do not care for him. We
will go to-night and have a free hunt in his
wood" — the long wood on the hill that
you have seen behind Raback. Well, those
that heard them say this, they said: "No,
do not go ; we are sure you will meet with
persons walking who should not be walking.
They should be resting, not walking." These

COUNT MAGNUS 167

men laughed. There were no forest-men to
keep the wood, because no one wished to live
there. The family were not here at the house.
These men could do what they wished.

*Very well, they go to the wood that
night. My grandfather was sitting here in
this room. It was the summer,, and a light
night. With the window open, he could see
out to the wood, and hear.

* So he sat there, and two or three men with
him, and they listened. At first they hear
nothing at all ; then they hear someone — ^you
know how far away it is — ^they hear someone
scream, just as if the most inside part of his
soul was twisted out of him. All of them in
the room caught hold of each other, and they
sat so for three-quarters of an hour. Then
they hear someone else, only about three
hundred ells off. They hear him laugh out
loud : it was not one of those two men that
laughed, and, indeed, they have all of them
said that it was not any man at all. After
that they hear a great door shut.

* Then, when it was just light with the sun

168 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

they all went to the priest They said to
him:

' " Father, put on your gown and your ruff,
and come to bury these men, Anders Bjomsen
and Hans Thorbjorn."

* You understand that they were sure these
men were dead. So they went to the wood —
my grandfather never forgot this. He said
they were all hke so many dead men them-
selves. The priest, too, he was in a white
fear. He said when they came to him :

* " I heard one cry in the night, and I heard
one laugh afterwards. If I cannot forget
that, I shall not be able to sleep again."

* So they went to the wood, and they found
these men on the edge of the wood. Hans
Thorbjorn was standing mth his back against
a tree, and all the time he was pushing with
his hands — pushing something away from him
which was not there. So he was not dead.
And they led him away, and took him to the
home at Nykj oping, and he died before the
winter; but he went on pushing with his
hands. Also Anders Bjornsen was there ; but

COUNT MAGNUS 169

he was dead. And I tell you this about
Anders Bjomsen, that he was once a beautiful
man, but now his face was not there, because
the flesh of it was sucked away off the bones.
You understand that ? My grandfather did
not forget that. And they laid him on the
bier which they brought, and they put a cloth
over his head, and the priest walked before ;
and they began to sing the psalm for the dead
as well as they could. So, as they were sing-
ing the end of the first verse, one fell down,
who was canying the head of the bier, and
the others looked back, and they saw that the
cloth had fallen off, and the eyes of Anders
Bjomsen were looking up, because there was
nothing to close over them. And this they
could not bear. Therefore the priest laid the
cloth upon him, and sent for a spade, and they
buried him in that place.'

The next day Mr. Wraxall records that
the deacon called for him soon after his
breakfast, and took him to the church and
mausoleum. He noticed that the key of the
latter was hung on a nail just by the pulpit, and

170 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

it occurred to him that, as the church door
seemed to be left unlocked as a rule, it would
not be difficult for him to pay a second and
more private visit to the monuments if there
proved to be more of interest among them
than could be digested at first. The building,
when he entered it, he found not unimposing.
The monuments, mostly large erections of the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, were
dignified if luxuriant, - and the epitaphs and
heraldry were copious. The central space of
the domed room was occupied by three copper
sarcophagi, covered with finely-engraved oma-
ment. Two of them had, as is commonly the
case in Denmark and Sweden, a large metal
crucifix on the lid. The third, that of Coimt
Magnus, as it appeared, had, instead of that, a
full-length effigy engraved upon it, and round
the edge were several bands of similar orna-
ment representing various scenes. One was
a battle, with cannon belching out smoke,
and walled towns, and troops of pikemen.
Another showed an execution. In a third,
among trees, was a man running at fiill speed.

COUNT MAGNUS 171

with flying hair and outstretched hands.
After him followed a strange form ; it would
be hard to say whether the artist had intended
it for a man, and was unable to give the
requisite similitude, or whether it was inten-
tionally made as monstrous as it looked. In
view of the skill with which the rest of the
drawing was done, Mr. Wraxall felt inclined
to adopt the latter idea. The figure was
unduly short, and was for the most part
muffled in a hooded garment which swept
the ground. The only part of the form which
projected from that shelter was not shaped
like any hand or arm. Mr. Wraxall compares
it to the tentacle of a devil-fish, and continues :
^ On seeing this, I said to myself, " This, then,
which is evidently an allegorical representation
of some kind — a fiend pursuing a hunted soul
— ^may be the origin of the story of Count
Magnus and his mysterious companion. Let
us see how the huntsman is pictured : doubt-
less it will be a demon blowing his horn." ' But,
as it turned out, there was no such sensational
figure, only the semblance of a cloaked man

172 GHOST-SriDRIES OP AN ANTIQUARY

Oil a hillock, who stood leaning on a stick, and
watching the hunt with an interest which the
engraver had tried to express in his attitude.

Blr. Wraxall noted the finely-worked and
massive steel padlocks — ^three in number —
which secured the sarcophagus. One of them,
he saw, was detached, and lay on the pavement.
And then, unwilling to delay the deacon longer
or to waste his own working-time, he made
his way onward to the manor-house.

* It is curious,' he notes, * how on retracing
a familiar path one's thoughts engross one to
the absolute exclusion of surrounding objects.
To-night, for the second time, 1 had entirely
failed to notice where I was going (1 had
planned a private visit to the tomb-house to
copy the epitaphs), when I suddenly, as it
were, awoke to consciousness, and found
myself (as before) turning in at the church-
yard gate, and, I believe, singing or chanting
Nome such words as, " Are you awake, Coimt
Magnus ? Are you asleep, Count Magnus ?"
and then something more which I have failed
to recollect. It seemed to me that I must

COUNT MAGNUS 173

have been behaving in this nonsensical way
for some time.'

He fomid the key of the manor-house where
he had expected to find it, and copied the
greater part of what he wanted; in fact, he
stayed until the light began to fail him.

* I must have been wrong,' he writes, * in
saying that one of the padlocks of my Count's
sarcophagus was unfastened ; I see to-night
that two are loose. I picked both up, and
laid them carefully on the ^vindow-ledge, after
trying unsuccessfully to close them. The
remaining one is still firm, and, though I take
it to be a spring lock, I cannot guess how it is
opened. Had I succeeded in undoing it, I am
almost afraid I should have taken the liberty of
opening the sarcophagus. It is strange, the
interest I feel in the personality of this, I fear,
somewhat ferocious and grim old noble.'

The day following was, as it turned out, the
last of Mr. Wraxall's stay at Raback. He
received letters connected with certain invest-
ments which made it desirable that he should
return to England ; his work among the

174 GHOST-STORffiS OF AN ANTIQUARY

papers was practically done, and travelling
was slow. He decided, therefore, to make
his farewells, put some finishing touches to his
notes, and be off.

These finishing touches and farewells, as it
turned out, took more time than he had ex-
pected. The hospitable family insisted on his
stajdng to dine with them — they dined at
three — and it was verging on half-past six
before he was outside the iron gates of Raback.
He dwelt on every step of his walk by the
lake, determined to saturate himself, now that
he trod it for the last time, in the sentiment of
the place and hour. And when he reached
the summit of the churchyard knoll, he
lingered for many minutes, gazing at the
limitless prospect of woods near and distant,
all dark beneath a sky of liquid green. When
at last he turned to go, the thought struck him
that surely he must bid farewell to Count
Magnus as well as the rest of the De la
Gardies. The church was but twenty yards
away, and he knew where the key of the
mausoleum hung. It was not long before he

COUNT MAGNUS 176

was standing over the great copper coffin, and,
as usual, talking to himself aloud. ^ You may
have been a bit of a rascal in your time,
Magnus,' he was sajdng, *but for all that I

should like to see you, or, rather '

* Just at that instant,' he says, * I felt a blow
on my foot. Hastily enough I drew it back,
and something fell on the pavement with a
clash. It was the third, the last of the three
padlocks which had fastened the sarcophagus.
I stooped to pick it up, and — Heaven is my
witness that I am writing only the bare truth
— before I had raised myself there was a sound
of metal hinges creaking, and I distinctly saw
the lid shifting upwards. I may have behaved
like a coward, but I could not for my life stay
for one moment. I was outside that dreadful
building in less time than I can write — almost
as quickly as I could have said — the words;
and what frightens me yet more, I could npt
turn the key in the lock. As I sit here in my
room noting these facts, I ask myself (it was
not twenty minutes ago) whether that lUoise
of creaking metal continued, and I cannot tell

176 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

whether it did or not. I only know that there
was something more than I have written that
alarmed me, but whether it was somid or
sight I am not able to remember. What is
this that I have done V

Poor Mr. Wraxall ! He set out on his
journey to England on the next day, as he had
planned, and he reached England in safety;
and yet, as I gather from his changed hand
and inconsequent jottings, a broken man.
One of several small note-books that have
come to me with his papers gives, not a key to,
but a kind of inkling of, his experiences.
Much of his journey was made by canal-boat,
and I find not less than six painful attempts
to enumerate and describe his feUow-pas-
sengers. The entries are of this kind :

* 24. Pastor of village in Skane. Usual black coat
and soft black hat.

* 25. Commercial traveller from Stockholm going to
Trollhattan. Black cloak, brown hat.

* 26. Man in long black cloak, broad-leafed hat, very
old-fashioned.^

This entry is lined out, and a note added :

COUNT MAGNUS 177

* Perhaps identical with No. 13. Have not
not yet seen his face.' On referring to
No. 13, I find that he is a Roman priest in a
cassock.

The net result of the reckoning is always
the same. Twenty-eight people appear in the
enmneration, one being always a man in a long
black cloak and broad hat, and the other a

* short figm-e in dark cloak and hood.' On the
other hand, it is always noted that only twenty-
six passengers appear at meals, and that the
man in the cloak is perhaps absent, and the
short figm-e is certainly absent.

On reaching England, it appears that Mr.
Wraxall landed at Harwich, and that he
resolved at once to put himself out of the
reach of some person or persons whom he
never specifies, but whom he had evidently
come to regard as his pursuers. Accordingly
he took a vehicle — it was a closed fly — not
trusting the railway, and drove across country
to the village of Belchamp St. Paul. It was
about nine o'clock on a moonlight August

178 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY'

night when he neared the place. He was
sitting forward, and looking out of the window
at the fields and thickets — there was Uttle else
to be seen — racing past him. Suddenly he
came to a cross - road. At the corner two
figures were standing motionless ; both were
in dark cloaks ; the taller one wore a hat, tlie
shorter a hood. He had no time to see their
faces, nor did they make any motion that he
could discern. Yet tlie horse shied ■violently
and broke into a gallop, and Mr. Wraxall sank
back into his seat in something like desp
tion. He had seen them before.

Arrived at Belchamp St. Paul, he was fortu-
nate enough to find a decent furnished lodging,
and for the next twenty-four hours he Uved '■
comparatively speaking, in peace. His '.
notes were written on this day. They are too -^ — =
disjointed and ejaculatory to be given here in
full, but the substance of them is clear
enough. He is expecting a visit from his
pursuers — how or when he knows not — and
his constant cry is ' What has he done ?'
• Is there no hope V Doctors, he knows, v

11 sanl^l
:spe^H

forti^^

ived^J

e too-*^

COUNT MAGNUS 179

call him mad, policemen would laugh at him.
The parson is away. What can he do but
loC^k his door and cry to Gk)d ?

People still remembered last year at Bel-
champ St. Paul how a strange gentleman came
one evening in July years back ; and how the
next morning but one he was found dead, and
there was an inquest ; and the jury that viewed
the body fainted, seven of *em did, and none of
'em wouldn't speak to what they see, and the
verdict was visitation of God; and how the
people as kep' the 'ouse moved out that same
week, and went away from that part. But
they do not, I think, know that any glimmer
of light has ever been thrown, or could be
thrown, on the mystery. It so happened that
last year the little house came into my hands
as part of a legacy. It had stood empty since
1863, and there seemed no prospect of letting
it ; so I had it pulled down, and the papers of
which 1 have given you an abstract were
found in a forgotten cupboard under the
window in the best bedroom.

12—2

OH, WHISTLE, AND I'LL COMtl TO

YOU, MY LAD'

181

* OH, WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO

YOU, MY LAD'

*I SUPPOSE you will be getting away pretty
soon, now Full tenn is over, Professor,' said
a person not in the story to the Professor of
Ontography, soon after th^y had sat down next
to each other at a feast in the hospitable hall
of St. James's College.

The Professor was young, neat, and precise
in speech.

* Yes,' he said ; * my firiends have been making
me take up golf this term, and I mean to go to
the East Coast — ^in point of fact to Bumstow —
(I dare say you know it) for a week or ten days,
to improve my game. I hope to get off to-
morrow.'

*Oh, Parkins,' said his neighbour on the
other side, * if you are going to Bumstow, I

183

184 GHOST-STORIES OP AN ANTIQUARY

wish you would look at the site of the
Templars' preeeptory, and let me know if you
thmk it would be any good to ha ve a dig there
in the summer/

It was, as you might suppose, a person of
antiquarian pursuits who said this, but, since he
merely appears in this prologue, there is no
need to give his entitlements.

* Certainly,' said Parkins, the Professor : ^ if
you will describe to me whereabouts the site
is, I will do my best to give you an idea of the
lie of the land when I get back ; or I could
write to you about it, if you would tell me
where you are likely to be.'

* Don't trouble to do that, thanks. It's only
that I'm thinking of taking my family in that
direction in the Long, and it occurred to me
that, as very few of the English preceptories
have ever been properly planned, I might have
an opportunity of doing something useful on
off-days.'

I'he Professor rather sniffed at the idea that
planning out a preceptory could be described
as useful. His neighbour continued :

'OH, WHISTLE, AND FLL COME TO YOU ' 186

* The site — I doubt if there is anything
showing above ground — must be down quite
close to the beach now. The sea has encroached
tremendously, as you know, all along that bit
of coast. I should think, from the map, that it
must be about three-quarters of a mile from
the Globe Inn, at the north end of the town.
Where are you going to stay V

*Well, at the Globe Inn, as a matter of
fact,' said Parkins ; * I have engaged a room
there. I couldn't get in anywhere else ; most
of the lodging-houses are shut up in winter,
it seems ; and, as it is, they tell me that the
only room of any size I can have is really a
double-bedded one, and that they haven't a
comer in which to store the other bed, and
so on. But I must have a fairly large room,
for I am taking some books down, and mean
to do a bit of work ; and though I don't quite
fency having an empty bed — ^not to speak of
two — ^in what I may call for the time being
my study, I suppose I can manage to rough
it for the short time I shall be there.'

* Do you call having an extra bed in your

186 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

room roughing it. Parkins V said a bluff person
opposite. ^ Look here, I shall come down and
occupy it for a bit ; itH be company for you/

The Professor quivered, but managed to
laugh in a courteous manner.

*By all means, Rogers; there's nothing I
should like better. But I'm afraid you would
find it rather dull; you don't play golf, do

you?'

* No, thank Heaven 1' said rude Mr. Rogers.

*Well, you see, when I'm not writing I
shall most likely be out on the links, and that,
as I say, would be rather dull for you, I'm
afraid.'

* Oh, I don't know I There's certain to be
somebody I know in the place ; but, of course,
if you don't want me, speak the word. Parkins ;
I shan't be offended. Truth, as you always
tell us, is never offensive.'

Parkins was, indeed, scrupulously polite and
strictly truthful. It is to be feared that Mr.
Rogers sometimes practised upon his know-
ledge of these characteristics. In Parkins's
breast there was a conflict now raging, which

* OH, WHISTLE, AND FLL COME TO YOU' 187

for a moment or two did not allow him to
answer. That interval being over, he said :

* Well, if you want the exact truth, Rogers,
I was considering whether the room I speiak
of would really be large enough to acconuno-
date us both comfortably ; and also whether
(mind, I shouldn't have said this if you hadn't
pressed me) you would not constitute some-
thing in the nature of a hindrance to my
work.'

Rogers laughed loudly.

*Well done, Parkins 1' he said. *It's all
right. I promise not to interrupt your work ;
don't you disturb yourself about that. No, I
won't come if you don't want me; but I
thought I should do so nicely to keep the
ghosts off.' Here he might have been seen
to wink and to nudge his next neighbour.
Parkins might also have been seen to become
pink. ' I beg pardon. Parkins,' Rogers con-
tinued ; * I oughtn't to have said that. I
forgot you didn't like levity on these topics.'

'Well,' Parkins said, *as you have men-
tioned the matter, I freely own that I do

188 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

not like careless talk about what you call
ghosts. A man in my position,' he went on,
raising his voice a little, * cannot, I find, be
too careful about appearing to sanction the
current behefs on such subjects. As you
know, Rogers, or as you ought to know ; for
1 think I have never concealed my views '

^ No, you certainly have not, old man,' put
in Rogers sotto voce.

* 1 hold that any semblance, any appear-

ance of concession to the view that such things
might exist is to me a renimciation of all
that I hold most sacred. But I'm afraid
I have not succeeded in securing your atten-
tion.'

' Your undivided attention, was what Dr.
Blimber actually said,'^ Rogers interrupted,
with every appearance of an earnest desire for
accuracy. ' But I beg your pardon, Parkins :
I'm stopping you.'

'No, not at all,' said Parkins. 'I don't
remember Blimber ; perhaps he was before my

* Mr. Rogers was wrong, vide 'Dombey and Son,'
chapter xii.

* OH, WHISTLE, AND FLL COME TO YOU ' 189

time. But I needn't go on. I'm sure you
know what I mean.'

* Yes, yes,' said Rogers, rather hastily — * just
so. We'll go into it fiiUy at Bumstow, or
somewhere.'

In repeating the above dialogue I have
tried to give the impression which it made
on me, that Parkins was something of an old
woman — rather henlike, perhaps, in his little
ways; totally destitute, alasl of the sense
of humour, but at the same time dauntless
and sincere in his convictions, and a man
deserving of the greatest respect. Whether
or not the reader has gathered so much, that
was the character which Parkins had.

On the following day Parkins did, as he
had hoped, succeed in getting away from his
college, and in arriving at Bumstow. He was
made welcome at the Globe Inn, was safely
installed in the large double-bedded room of
which we have heard, and was able before
retiring to rest to arrange his materials for
work in apple-pie order upon a commodious

190 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY |

table which occupied the outer end of ■
room, and was surrounded on three sides 1
windows looking out seaward ; that is to i
the central window looked straight out to s
and those on the left and right commandi
prospects along the shore to the north .
south respectively. On the south you
the village of Bumstow. On the north ]
houses were to be seen, but only the
and the low cliff backing it Immediately in
front was a strip — not considerable^K)f rough
grass, dotted with old anchors, capstans, ;
so forth ; then a broad path ; then the bead
Whatever may have been the original distand
between the Globe Inn and the sea, not mra
than sixty yards now separated them.

The rest of the population of the inn waj
of course, a golfing one, and included fei
elements that call for a special descriptioJ
The most conspicuous figure was, perhapi
that of an ancien miUtaire, secretary of
London club, and possessed of a voice
incredible strength, and of views of a pr<
nouncedly Protestant tjfpe. These were afj

* OH, WHISTLE, AND TLL COME TO YOU ' 191

to find utterance after his attendance upon
the ministrations of the Vicar, an estimable
man with inclinations towards a picturesque
ritual, which he gallantly kept down as far
as he could out of deference to East Anglian
tradition*

Professor Parkins, one of whose principal
characteristics was pluck, spent the greater
part of the day following his arrival at Burn*
stow in what he had called improving his game,
in company with this Colonel Wilson: and
during the afternoon — ^whether the process of
improvement were to blame or not, I am not
sure — ^the Colonel's demeanour assumed a
colouring so lurid that even Parkins jibbed
at the thought of walking home with him from
the links. He determined, after a short and
furtive look at that bristling moustache and
those incarnadined features, that it would be
wiser to allow the influences of tea and tobacco
to do what they could with the Colonel
before the dinner-hour should render a meet-
ing inevitable.

*I might walk home to-night along the

Iftt GHO^T-STOIUES OF AX ASTtQCART

htsuh: he reflected— ' yes, and take a look-
there win be light enough for that — at tlie
nuns of idiich Disney was taUm^. I dcmt
exactly know where they are, fay tiie wmy;
but I expect I can hardly help stumUm^ on
thenL*

This he accomplished^ I may say, in the
most literal sense, for in piddng his way from
the links to the shingle beach his foot caught,
partly in a gorse-root and partly in a biggish
stone, and over he went. When he got up
and surveyed his surroundings, he found him-
self in a patch of somewhat broken ground
covered with small depressions and mounds.
These latter, when he came to examine them,
proved to be simply masses of flints embedded
in mortar and grown over with turf. He must,
he quite rightly concluded, be on the site of
the preceptory he had promised to look at. It
seemed not unlikely to reward the spade of
the explorer ; enough of the foundations was
probably left at no great depth to throw a good
deal of light on the general plan. He remem-
bered vaguely that the Templars, to whom this

* OH, WHISTLE, AND TLL COME TO YOU " 193

site had belonged, were in the habit of build-
ing round churches, and he thought a particular
series of the humps or mounds near him did
appear to be arranged in something of a circular
form. Few people can resist the temptation
to try a little amateur research in a department
quite outside their own, if only for the satis-
faction of showing how successful they would
have been had they only taken it up seriously.
Our Professor, however, if he felt something
of this mean desire, was also truly anxious
to oblige Mr. Disney. So he paced with care
the circular area he had noticed, and wrote
down its rough * dimensions in his pocket-
book. Then he proceeded to examine an
oblong eminence which lay east of the centre
of the circle, and seemed to his thinking
likely to be the base of a platform or altar.
At one end of it, the northern, a patch of
the turf was gone — ^removed by some boy or
other creature ferae naturae. It might, he
thought, be as well to probe the soil here for
evidences of masonry, and he took out his knife
and began scraping away the earth. And now

194 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

followed another little discovery: a poition
of soil fell inward as he scraped, and disclosed
a small cavity. He lighted one match after
another to help him to see of what nature the
hole was, but the wind was too strong for them
all. By tapping and scratching the sides with
his knife, however, he was able to make out
that it must be an artificial hole in masonry.
It was rectangular, and the sides, top, and
bottom, if not actually plastered, were smooth
aifd regular. Of course it was empty. No I
As he withdrew the knife he heard a metallic
clink, and when he introduced his hand it met
with a cylindrical object lying on the floor of
the hole. Naturally enough, he picked it up,
and when he brought it into the light, now
fast fading, he could see that it, too, was of
man's making — a metal tube about four inches
long, and evidently of some considerable age.

By the time Parkins had made sure that
there was nothing else in this odd receptacle, it
was too late and too dark for him to think of
undertaking any further search. What he had
done had proved so unexpectedly interesting

* OH, WHISTLE, AND TLL COME TO YOU ' 196

that he determined to sacrifice a little more of
the daylight on the morrow to archaeology.
The object which he now had safe in his pocket
was bomid to be of some slight value at least,
he felt sm-e.

Bleak and solemn was the view on which he
took a last look before starting homeward. A
fsdnt yellow light in the west showed the links,
on which a few figures moving towards the
club-house were still visible, the squat mar-
tello tower, the lights of Aldsey village, the
pale ribbon of sands intersected at intervals
by black wooden groynings, the dim and
murmuring sea. The wind was bitter from
the north, but was at his back when he set out
for the Globe. He quickly rattled and clashed
through the shingle and gained the sand, upon
which, but for the groynings which had to be
got over every few yards, the going was both
good and quiet. One last look behind, to mea-
sure the distance he had made since leaving the
ruined Templars' church, showed him a pros-
pect of company on his walk, in the shape of a
rather indistinct personage in the distance, who

18—2

196 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

seemed to be making great effi>rts to catdii up
with him, but made little, if any, progress. I
mean that tliere was an appearance of running
about his movements, but that the distance
between him and Parkins did not seem
materially to lessen. So, at least. Parkins
thought, and decided that he almost certainly
did not know him, and that it would be absurd
to wait until he came up. For all that, com-
pany, he began to think, would really be very
welcome on that lonely shore, if only you could
choose your companion. In his unenlightened
days he had read of meetings in such places
which even now would hardly bear thinking of.
He went on thinking of them, however, until
he reached home, and particularly of one
which catches most people's fancy at some time
of their childhood. ' Now I saw in my dream
that Christian had gone but a very little way
when he saw a foul fiend coming over the
field to meet him.' * What should I do now,' he
thought, ' if I looked back and caught sight of
a black figure sharply defined against the yellow
sky, and saw that it had horns and wings ? I

' OH, WHISTLE, AND TLL COME TO YOU ' 197

wonder whether I should stand or run for it.
Luckily, the gentleman behind is not of that
kind, and he seems to be about as far off now
as when I saw him first. Well, at this rate he
won't get his dinner as soon as I shall ; and,
dear me ! it's within a quarter of an hour of the
time now. I must run 1'

Parkins had, in fact, very little time for dress-
ing. When he met the Colonel at dinner. Peace
— or as much of her as that gentleman could
manage — reigned once more in the military
bosom ; nor was she put to flight in the hours
of bridge that followed dinner, for Parkins was
a more than respectable player. When, there-
fore, he retired towards twelve o'clock, he felt
that he had spent his evening in quite a satis-
factory way, and that, even for so long as a
fortnight or three weeks, life at the Globe
would be supportable under similar conditions
— * especially,' thought he, * if I go on im-
proving my game.'

As he went along the passages he met the
boots of the Globe, who stopped and said :

' Beg your pardon, sir, but as I was a-brush-

198 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

ing your coat just now there was somethink
fell out of the pocket. I put it on your chest
of drawers, sir, m your room, sh: — a piece of a
pipe or somethink of that, sir. Thank you,
sir. Youll find it on your chest of drawers,
sir — ^yes, sir. Good-night, sir.'

The speech served to remind Parkins of his
little discovery of that afternoon. It was with
some considerable curiosity that he turned it
over by the light of his candles. It was of
bronze, he now saw, and was shaped very much
after the manner of the modem dog- whistle ;
in fact it was — yes, certainly it was — actually
no more nor less than a whistle. He put it to
his lips, but it was quite full of a fine, caked-up
sand or earth, which would not yield to knock-
ing, but must be loosened with a knife. Tidy
as ever in his habits. Parkins cleared out the
earth on to a piece of paper, and took the
latter to the window to empty it out. The
night was clear and bright, as he saw when he
had opened the casement, and he stopped for
an instant to look at the sea and note a belated
wanderer stationed on the shore in fi-ont of the

* OH, WHISTLE, AND FLL COME TO YOU ' 199

inn. Then he shut the wmdow, a little sur-
prised at the late hours people kept at Bum-
stow, and took his whistle to the light again.
Why, surely there were marks on it, and not
merely marks, but letters 1 A very little
rubbing rendered the deeply-cut inscription
quite legible, but the Professor had to confess,
after some earnest thought, that the meaning
of it was as obscure to him as the writmg on
the wall to Belshazzar. There were legends
both on the front and on the back of the
whistle. The one read thus :

^'^R FI.S ^^

The other :

yRoais GST isTe qm ueLX^iTH^

*I ought to be able to make it out,* he
thought ; * but I suppose I am a little rusty
in my Latin. When I come to think of it, I
don't believe I even know the word for a
whistle. The long one does seem simple

200 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

enough* It ought to mean^ ''Who is this
who is coming ?" Well, the best way to find
out is evidently to whistle for Imn.'

He blew tentatively and stopped suddenly,
startled and yet pleased at the note he had
elicited. It had a quality of infinite distance
in it, and, soft as it was, he somehow felt it
must be audible for miles round. It was a
sound, too, that seemed to have the power
(which many scents possess) of forming pictures
in the brain. He saw quite clearly for a moment
a vision of a wide, dark expanse at night, with
a fresh wind blowing, and in the midst a lonely
figure — how employed, he could not tell. Per-
haps he would have seen more had not the
picture been broken by the sudden surge of a
gust of wind against his casement, so sudden
that it made him look up, just in time to see
the white glint of a sea-bird's wing somewhere
outside the dark panes.

The sound of the whistle had so fascinated
him that he could not help trying it once more,
this time more boldly. The note was little, if
at all, louder than before, and repetition broke

' OH, WHISTLE, AND TLL COME TO YOU ' 201

the illusion — no picture followed, as he had
half hoped it might. * But what is this ? Good-
ness I what force the wind can get up in a few
minutes I What a tremendous gust I There I
I knew that window-fastening was no use!
Ah! I thought so — both candles out. It is
enough to tear the room to pieces.'

The first thing was to get the window shut.
While you might count twenty Parkins was
struggling with the small casement, and felt
almost as if he were pushing back a sturdy
burglar, so strong was the pressure. It
slackened all at once, and the window
banged to and latched itself Now to re-
light the candles and see what damage, if
any, had been done. No, nothing seemed
amiss ; no glass even was broken in the case-
ment. But the noise had evidently roused at
least one member of the household : the Colonel
was to be heard stumping in his stockinged
feet on the floor above, and growling.

Quickly as it had risen, the wind did not
fall at once. On it went, moaning and
rushing past the house, at times rising to a cry

so* GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUAKY

so desolate that, as Parkins disinterestedly
said, it might have made fanciful people feel
quite uncomfortable ; even the unimaginative,
he thought after a quarter of an hour, might
be happier without it.

Whether it was the wind, or the excitement
of golf, or of the researches in the preceptory
that kept Parkins awake, he was not sure.
Awake he remained, in any case, long enough
to fancy (as I am afraid I often do myself
under such conditions) that he was the victim
of all manner of fatal disorders : he would lie
counting the beats of his heart, convinced that
it was going to stop work every moment, and
would entertain grave suspicions of his lungs,
brain, liver, etc. — suspicions which he was sure
would be dispelled by the return of daylight,
but which until then refused to be put aside.
He found a little vicarious comfort in the idea
that someone else was in the same boat. A
near neighbour (in the darkness it was not easy
to tell his direction) was tossing and rustling
in his bed, too.

The next stage was that Parkins shut his

' OH, WHISTLE, AND FLL COME TO YOU ' 203

eyes and determined to give sleep every
chance. Here again over-excitement asserted
itself in another form — that of making pic-
tures. Earperto crede^ pictures do come to
the closed eyes of one trying to sleep, and
often his pictures are so little to his taste that
he must open his eyes and disperse the images.

Parkins's experience on this occasion was a
very distressing one. He found that the
picture which presented itself to him was con-
tinuous. When he opened his eyes, of course,
it went ; but when he shut them once more
it framed itself afresh, and acted itself out
again, neither quicker nor slower than before.
What he saw was this :

A long stretch of shore — ^shingle edged by
sand, and intersected at short intervals with
black groynes running down to the water — ^a
scene, in fact, so like that of his afternoon's
walk that, in the absence of any landmark, it
could not be distinguished therefrom. The
light was obscure, conveying an impression of
gathering storm, late winter evening, and slight
cold rain. On this bleak stage at first no actor

204 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUAKY

was \isible. Then^ in the distance, a bobbing
black object appeared ; a moment more, and it
was a man running, jmnping, dambeiing over
the groynes, and every few seconds looking
eagerly back. The nearer he came the more
obvious it was that he was not only anxious,
but even terribly frightened, though his £ace
was not to be distinguished. He was, more-
over, almost at the end of his strength. On
he came ; each successive obstacle seemed to
cause him more difficulty than the last * Will
he get over this next one V thought Parkins ;
* it seems a little higher than the others.' Yes ;
half climbing, half throwing himself, he did get
over, and fell all in a heap on the other side
(the side nearest to the spectator). There, as
if really unable to get up again, he remained
crouching under the groyne, looking up in an
attitude of painful anxiety.

So far no cause whatever for the fear of the
runner had been shown ; but now there began
to be seen, far up the shore, a little flicker of
something light-coloured moving to and fro
with great swiftness and irregularity. Rapidly

* OH, WHISTLE, AND TLL COME TO YOU' 205

growing larger, it, too, declared itself as a
figure in pale, fluttering draperies, ill-defined.
There was something about its motion which
made Parkins very unwilling to see it at close
quarters. It would stop, raise arms, bow
itself toward the sand, then run stooping
across the beach to the water-edge and back
again ; and then, rising upright, once more con-
tinue its course forward at a speed that was
startling and terrifying. The moment came
when the pursuer was hovering about from
left to right only a few yards beyond the
groyne where the runner lay in hiding. After
two or three ineffectual castings hither and
thither it came to a stop, stood upright, with
arms raised high, and then darted straight
forward towards the groyne.

It was at this point that Parkins always
failed in his resolution to keep his eyes shut.
With many misgivings as to incipient failure of
eyesight, overworked brain, excessive smoking,
and so on, he finally resigned himself to light
his candle, get out a book, and pass the night
waking, rather than be tormented by this per-

206 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

sistent panorama, which he saw clearly enough
could only be a morbid reflection of his walk
and his thoughts on that very day.

The scraping of match on box and the glare
of light must have startled some creatures
of the night — ^rats or what not — which he
heard scurry across the floor from the side of
his bed with much rustling. Dear, dear I the
match is out ! Fool that it is ! But the
second one burnt better, and a candle and
book were duly procured, over which Parkins
pored till sleep of a wholesome kind came
upon him, and that in no long space. For
about the first time in his orderly and prudent
life he forgot to blow out the candle, and when
he was called next morning at eight there was
still a flicker in the socket and a sad mess of
guttered grease on the top of the little table.

After breakfast he was in his room, putting
the finishing touches to his golfing costume —
fortime had again allotted the Colonel to him
for a partner — ^when one of the maids came in.

*Oh, if you please,' she said, 'would you
like any extra blankets on your bed, sir V

' OH, WHISTLE, AND TLL COME TO YOU ' 207

*Ahl thank you,' said Parkins. *Yes, I
think I should like one. It seems likely to
tiun rather colder.'

In a very short time the maid was back with
the blanket.

' Which bed should I put it on, sir V she
asked.

*What? Why, that one — ^the one I slept
in last night,' he said, pointing to it.

* Oh yes I I beg your pardon, sir, but you
seemed to have tried both of 'em ; leastways,
we had to make 'em both up this morning.'

* Really ? How very absurd I' said Parkins.
* I certainly never touched the other, except
to lay some things on it. Did it actually seem
to have been slept in ?'

* Oh yes, sir 1' said the maid. ' Why, all
the things was crumpled and throwed about all
ways, if you'll excuse me, sir — quite as if
anyone 'adn't passed but a very poor night, sir.'

* Dear me,' said Parkins. * Well, I may
have disordered it more than I thought when I
mipacked my things. I'm very sorry to have
given you the extra trouble, I'm sure. I

208 GHOST-STOKIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

expect a friend of mine soon, by the way — a
gentleman from Cambridge — ^to come and
occupy it for a night or two. That will be all
right, I suppose, won't it V

' Oh yes, to be sure, sir. Thank you, sir.
It's no trouble, I'm siu^,' said the maid, and
departed to giggle with her colleagues.

Parkins set forth, with a stem determination
to improve his game.

I am glad to be able to report that he suc-
ceeded so far in this enterprise that the Colonel,
who had been rather repining at the prospect
of a second day's play in his company, became
quite chatty as the morning advanced ; and
his voice boomed out over the flats, as certain
also of our own minor poets have said, *like
some great bourdon in a minster tower.'

^ Extraordinary wind, that, we had last night, '^
he said. ^In my old home we should have
said someone had been whistling for it.'

^ Should you, indeed !' said Parkins. * Is
there a superstition of that kind still current in
your part of the country V

* I don't know about superstition,' said the

' OH, WHISTLE, AND TLL COME TO YOU ' 209

Colonel. * They believe in it all over Den-
mark and Norway, as well as on the Yorkshire
coast ; and my experience is, mind you, that
there's generally something at the bottom of
what these country-folk hold to, and have held
to for generations. But it's your drive' (or
whatever it might have been : the golfing
reader will have to imagine appropriate digres-
sions at the proper intervals).

When conversation was resumed, Parkins
said, with a slight hesitancy :

* Apropos of what you were saying just now,
Colonel, I think I ought to tell you that my
own views on such subjects are very strong.
I am, in fact, a convinced disbeliever in what
is called the " supernatural." '

* What !' said the Colonel, * do you mean to
tell me you don't believe in second-sight, or
ghosts, or anything of that kind ?'

* In nothing whatever of that kind,' returned
Parkins firmly.

* Well,' said the Colonel, * but it appears to
me at that rate, sir, that you must be little
better than a Sadducee.'

210 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

Parkms was on the point of answering that,
in his opinion, the Sadducees were the most
sensible persons he had ever read of in the Old
Testament ; but, feeling some doubt as to
whether much mention of them was to be
found in that work, he preferred to laugh the
accusation oiF.

' Perhaps I am,' he said ; ' but Here,

give me my cleek, boy ! — ^Excuse me one
moment, ColoneL' A short interval * Now,
as to whistling for the wind, let me give
you my theory about it The laws which
govern winds are really not at all perfectly
known — to fisher-folk and such, of course,
not known at all. A man or woman of
eccentric habits, perhaps, or a stranger, is
seen repeatedly on the beach at some unusual
hour, and is heard whistling. Soon afterwards
a violent wind rises; a man who could read
the sky perfectly or who possessed a barometer
could have foretold that it would. The simple
people of a fishing- village have no barometers,
and only a few rough rules for prophesying
weather. What more natural than that the

* OH, WHISTLE, AND TLL COME TO YOU' 211

eccentric personage I postulated should be
regarded as having raised the wind, or that he
or she should clutch eagerly at the reputation
of being able to do so ? Now, take last night's
wind : as it happens, I myself was whistling.
I blew a whistle twice, and the wind seemed
to come absolutely in answer to my call. If

anyone had seen me '

The audience had been a little restive under
this harangue, and Parkins had, [ fear, fallen
somewhat into the tone of a lecturer ; but at
the last sentence the Colonel stopped.

* Whistling, were you V he said. ' And what
sort of whistle did you use ? Play this stroke
first' Interval.

* About that whistle you were asking.
Colonel. It's rather a cimous one. I have it

in my No ; I see I've left it in my room.

As a matter of fact, 1 found it yesterday.'

And then Parkins narrated the manner- of
his discovery of the whistle, upon hearing
which the Colonel grunted, and opined that,
in Parkins's place, he should himself be carefiil
about using a thing that had belonged to a set

14—2

tit GHfMrr-j?T(mas or as AsnoiCAMY

• r • r-

of VzJffistK, of Mhaan, qiraknig
might te affinned that jaa nerer kneir what
they might m^A hare heen up to. From tins
topic he dWergtd to the enormities of tiie
VuM, who had giren notice on the pteiioos
Hund^y that Friday would be the Feast of
Ht ^rhmnsLH the Apo^rtle, and that there woold
f>e MTvice at eleven o'dock in the diarch.
^rhi^ and other inmilar proceedings constitoted
in the iUAaneVn view a stiraig presompticHi
that the Viear was a concealed Papist, if not
a Jesuit ; and Parkins, who could not very
readily follow the Colonel in this region, did
tuyt disagree with him. In &ct, they got on
Hi) well together in the morning that there
WRH no talk on either side of their separating
nilcr lunch.

Both (continued to play well during the after-
noon, or, at least, well enough to make them
Forg(;t everything else until the light began to
liiil thcfri. Not until then did Parkins re-
niettiber that he had meant to do some more
investigating at the preceptory ; but it was of
no great importance, he reflected. One day

* OH, WHISTLE, Ax\D TLL COME TO YOU ' 213

was as good as another ; he might as well go
home with the ColoneL

As they tmned the comer of the house, the
Colonel was almost knocked down by a boy
who rushed into him at the very top of his
speed, and then, instead of running away, re-
mained hanging on to him and panting. The
first words of the warrior were naturaUy those
of reproof and objiurgation, but he very quickly
discerned that the boy was almost speechless
with fright. Inquiries were useless at first.
When the boy got his breath he began to
howl, and still clung to the Colonel's legs. He
was at last detached, but continued to howl.

* What in the world is the matter with you ?
What have you been up to ? What have you
seen V said the two men.

*Ow, I seen it wive at me out of the
winder,' wailed the boy, * and I don't like it.'

* What window ?' said the irritated ColoneL

* Come, pull yourself together, my boy.'

* The front winder it was, at the 'otel,' said
the boy.

At this point Parkins was in favour of send-

214 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

ing the boy home, but the Colonel refused ;
he wanted to get to the bottom of it, he said ;
it was most dangerous to give a boy such a
fright as this one had had, and if it turned out
that people had been plajring jokes, they
should suffer for it in some way. And by a
series of questions he made out this story:
The boy had been playing about on the grass
in front of the Globe with some others ; then
they had gone home to their teas, and he was
just going, when he happened to look up at the
front winder and see it a-wi\dng at him. It
seemed to be a figure of some sort, in white as
far as he knew — couldn't see its face ; but it
wived at him, and it warn't a right thing — ^not
to say not a right person. Was there a light
in the room ? No, he didn't think to look if
there was a light. Which was the window^
Was it the top one or the second one ? The
seckind one it was —the big winder what got
two little uns at the sides.

* Very well, my boy,' said the Colonel, after
a few more questions. * You run away home
now. I expect it was some person trying to

* OH, WHISTLE, AND FIX COME TO YOU ' 216

give you a start. Another time, like a brave
English boy, you just throw a stone — ^well, no,
not that exactly, but you go and speak to the
waiter, or to Mr. Simpson, the landlord, and —
yes — and say that I advised you to do so.'

The boy's face expressed some of the doubt
he felt as to the likelihood of Mr. Simpson's
lending a favourable ear to his complaint, but
the Colonel did not appear to perceive this,
and went on :

*And here's a sixpence — no, I see it's a
shilling-and you be off home, and don't
think any more about it.'

The youth hurried off with agitated thanks,
and the Colonel and Parkins went round to
the front of the Globe and reconnoitred. There
was only one window answering to the descrip-
tion they had been hearing.

*Well, that's curious,' said Parkins; *it's
evidently my window the lad was talking
about. Will you come up for a moment.
Colonel Wilson ? We ought to be able to see
if anyone has been taking liberties in my
room.'

tUi GW^T^mmiES OF AX ASnqCAMT

^ihty irere toon in tlie poaug^ and
made » tf to open tlie docMc Then he sbofipcd
and felt tn Im pocketaiu

^ Thtt is nKne jsenocis than I thoMJit,' ws
hbfiext remark. ^Iremembernoirtfaatbcfiave
I iitarted this morning I locked tfae door. It is
locked now, aod^ what is more, here is the key.^
And he heW it up* * Now/ he went on, -if
the servants are in the habit of gmng into
one^s room during the day idien cxie is away,
I can only say that — ^well, that I don't ap-
prove of it at alL' Conscious of a somewhat
weak climax, he busied himself in opoiing
the door (which was indeed locked) and in
lighting candles. *No/ he said, * nothing
seems disturbed/

* Except your bed,' put in the ColoneL

* Excuse me, that isn't my bed,' said Parkins.
• I don't use that one. But it does look as if
Nouieoue had been playing tricks with it.'

It certainly did: the clothes were bimdled
up and twisted together in a most tortuous
confusion. Parkins pondered.

' That must be it,' he said at last : * I dis-

' OH, WHISTLE, AND TLL COME TO YOU' 217

ordered the clothes last night in unpacking,
and they haven't made it since. Perhaps they
came in to make it, and that boy saw them
through the window ; and then they were
called away and locked the door after them.
Yes, I think that must be it.'

* Well, ring and ask,' said the Colonel, and
this appealed to Parkins as practical.

The maid appeared, and, to make a long
story short, deposed that she had made the bed
in the morning when the gentleman was in the
room, and hadn't been there since. No, she
hadn't no other key. Mr. Simpson he kep'
the keys ; he'd be able to tell the gentleman if
anyone had been up.

This was a puzzle. Investigation showed
that nothing of value had been taken, and
Parkins remembered the disposition of the small
objects on tables and so forth well enough to
be pretty sure that no pranks had been
played with them. Mr. and Mrs. Simpson
furthermore agreed that neither of them had
given the duplicate key of the room to any
person whatever during the day. Nor could

218 GHOSTSTORIES OF AN ANTIQUAJftY

Parkins, fair-minded man as he was, detect
anything in the demeanour of master, mistress,
or maid that indicated guilt. He was much
more inclined to think that the boy had been
imposing on the ColoneL

The latter was imwontedly sUent and pen-
sive at dinner and throughout the evening.
When he bade good-night to Parkins, he mur-
mured in a gruff undertone :

' You know where I am if you want me
during the night.'

*Why, yes, thank you. Colonel Wilson, I
think I do ; but there isn't much prospect of
my disturbing you, I hope. By the way,' he
added, *did I show you that old whistle T
spoke of? I think not. Well, here it is.'

The Colonel turned it over gingerly in the
light of the candle.

* Can you make anything of the inscription V
asked Parkins, as he took it back.

* No, not in this light. What do you mean
to do with it V

* Oh, well, when I get back to Cambridge I
shall submit it to some of the archaeologists

*OH,WmSTLE,ANDrLLCOMETO YOU' 219

there, and see what they thmk of it ; and very-
likely, if they consider it worth having, I may
present it to one of the museimis.'

• 'M !' said the ColoneL * Well, you may be
right. All I know is that, if it were mine, I
should chuck it straight into the sea. It's no
use talking, I'm well aware, but I expect that
with you it's a case of live and learn. I hope
so, I'm sure, and I wish you a good-night.'

He turned away, leaving Parkins in act to
speak at the bottom of the stair, and soon each
was in his own bedroom.

By some unfortunate accident, there were
neither blinds nor curtains to the windows of
the Professor's room. The previous night he
had thought little of this, but to-night there
seemed every prospect of a bright moon rising
to shine directly on his bed, and probably wake
him later on. When he noticed this he was
a good deal annoyed, but, with an ingenuity
which I can only envy, he succeeded in rigging
up, with the help of a railway-rug, some safety-
pins, and a stick and umbrella, a screen which,
if it only held together, would completely keep

£» GHO^-STOSIES OF AN AXTIQCART

the moonlii^ c4Er fats bed. And sfaortfy after-
wards he was cova&xtMy in that bed. When
he had read a somewhat soSd wxxk long
enough to produce a decided wish for sleep,
he cast a drowsy glance round the rocHn, blew
out the candle, and fell back npoa the piDow.

He must have slept soundly for an hour or
more, when a sudden clatter ^ook him i^ in a
most unwelcome manner. In a momoit he
realized what had happened: his carefully-
constructed screen had given way, and a very
bright frosty moon was shining directly on his
face. This was highly anno3ring. Could he
possibly get up and reconstruct the screen ? or
could he manage to sleep if he did not ?

For some minutes he lay and pondered over
the possibilities ; then he turned over sharply,
and with all his eyes open lay breathlessly
listening. There had been a movement, he
was sure, in the empty bed on the opposite
side of the room. To-morrow he would have
it moved, for there must be rats or something
playing about in it. It was quiet now. No I
the commotion began again. There was a

«OH,WHISTLE, ANDTLLCOMETO YOU' 221

rustling and shaking: surely more than any
rat could cause

I can figure to myself something of the
Professor's bewilderment and horror, for I
have in a dream thirty years back seen the
same thing happen ; but the reader will hardly,
perhaps, imagme how dreadful it was to him
to see a figure suddenly sit up in what he
had known was an empty bed. He was out
of his own bed in one bound, and made a
dash towards the window, where lay his only
weapon, the stick with which he had propped
his screen. This was, as it turned out, the
worst thing he could have done, because the
personage in the empty bed, with a sudden
smooth motion, slipped from the bed and took
up a position, with outspread arms, between
the two beds, and in front of the door.
Parkins watched it in a horrid perplexity.
Somehow, the idea of getting past it and
escaping through the door was intolerable to
him ; he could not have borne — ^he didn't know
why — to touch it ; and sls for its touching him,
he would sooner dash himself through the

232 GH0ST.8T0RIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

window than have that happen. It stood for
the moment in a band of dark shadow, and
lie tiad not seen what its face was like. Xow
it })egan to move, in a stooping posture, and
all at once the spectator realized, with some
horror and some relief, that it must be blind,
for it seemed to feel about it with its muffled
arms in a groping and random fashion. Turn-
ing half away from him, it became suddenly
conscious of the bed he had just left, and
darted towards it, and bent and felt over the
pillows in a way which made Parkins shudder
as he had never in his life thought it possible.
In a very lew moments it seemed to kna
that the bed was empty, and then, movi
forward into the area of light and facing the
window, it showed for the first time what
maimer of thing it was.

I'arkins. who very much dislikes beii
questioned about it, did once describe somd
thing of it in my hearing, and I gathered th;
what he chiefly remembers about it is
horrible, an intensely horrible, face of cntmpled
linen. VVliat expression he read upon it he

ssible.
kno^^H
lOvin^^H
- th^"
what

>eu^^|

th^H

* OH, WHISTLE, AND nX COME TO YOU' JBB

could not or would not tell, but that the fear
of it went nigh to maddening him is certain.

But he was not at leisure to watch it for
long. With formidable quickness it moved
into the middle of the room, and, as it groped
and waved, one comer of its draperies swept
across Parkins's fece. He could not, though
he knew how perilous a sound was — he
could not keep back a cry of disgust, and this
gave the searcher an instant due. It leapt
towards him upon the instant, and the next
moment he was halfway through the window
backwards, uttering cry upon cry at the
utmost pitch of his voice, and the linen £Eu^e
was thrust dose into his own. At this, almost
the last possible second, deliverance came, as
you wiU have guessed : the Colonel burst the
door open, and was just in time to see the
dreadful group at the window. When he
reached the figures only one was left. Parkins
sank forward into the room in a faint, and
before him on the floor lay a tumbled heap
of bed-clothes.

Colonel Wilson asked no questions, but

224f GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

busied himself keeping everyone else out of
the room and in getting Parkins back to his
bed ; and himself, wrappied in a rug, occupied
the other bed, for the rest of the nighL
Early on the next day Rogers arrived, more
welcome than he would have been a day before,
and the three of them held a very long con-
sultation in the Professor's room. At the end
of it the Colonel left the hotel door carrying
a small object between his finger and thumb,
which he cast as far into the sea as a very
brawny arm could send it. Later on the
smoke of a burning ascended from the back
premises of the Globe.

Exactly what explanation was patched up
for the staff and visitors at the hotel I must
confess I do not recollect. The Professor was
somehow cleared of the ready suspicion of
delirium tremens, and the hotel of the reputa-
tion of a troubled house.

There is not much question as to what
would have happened to Parkins if the
Colonel had not intervened when he did. He
would either have fallen out of the window

* OH, WHISTLE, AND FLL COME TO YOU' 226

or else lost his wits. But it is not so evident
what more the creature that came in answer
to the whistle could have done than frighten.
There seemed to be absolutely nothing
material about it save the bed-clothes of which
it had made itself a body. The Colonel, who
remembered a not very dissimilar occurrence
in India, was of opinion that if Parkins had
closed with it it could really have done very
little, and that its one power was that of
frightening. The whole thing, he said, served
to confirm his opinion of the Church of Rome.
There is really nothing more to tell, but, as
you may imagine, the Professor's views on
certain points are less clear cut than they used
to be. His nerves, too, have suffered: he
cannot even now see a surplice hanging on a
door quite unmoved, and the spectacle of a
scarecrow in a field late on a winter afternoon
has cost him more than one sleepless night.

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS

227 15 — 2

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS

^Verum usque in prsBsentem diem multa
garriunt inter se Canonici de abscondito quo-
dam istius Abbatis Thomas thesauro, quem
saspe, quanquam adhuc incassum quaesiver-
unt Steinfeldenses. Ipsum enim Thomam ad-
huc florida in aetate existentem ingentem
auri massam cu-ca monasterium defodisse per-
hibent; de quo multoties interrogatus ubi
essetf cum risu respondere solitus erat : ** Job,
Johannes, et Zacharias vel vobis vel posteris
indicabunt "; idemque aliquando adiieere se in-
venturis minime invisurum. Inter alia huius
Abbatis opera, hoe memoria prsecipue dignum
iudico quod fenestram magnam in orientali
parte alae australis in ecclesia sua imaginibus

229

2S0 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUAEV '

optime in vitro depietis impleverit : id quod ct
ipsius effigies et insignia ibidem posita demons-
trant. Domum quoque Abbatialem fere totam
restauravit ; puteo in atrio ipsius effosso et
lapidibus mamioreis pulchre Cielatis exornato.
Decessit autem, morte aliquantulum subitanea
perculsus, aetatis susb anno Ixxii*^", incamationis
vera Dominige mdxxix".'

'I suppose I shall have to translate this,'
said the antiquary to himself, as he finished
copying the above lines from that rather n
and exceedingly diffuse book, the 'St
Steinfeldeme Norbertinum.''* ' Well, it
as well be done first as last,' and accon
the following rendering was very quii
produced :

' Up to the present day there is much
among the Canons about a certain hidd<
treasure of this Abbot Thomas, for which

• An account of the Premonstratensian abbey of
Steinfeld, in the Eiffel, with lives of the Abbots,
pubhahed at Cologne in 1712 by Christian Albert
Erhard, a resident in the district. The epitl
Norbertinum is due to the fact that St. Norbert n
founder of the Premonstratensian Order.

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 231

those of Steinfeld have often made search,
though hitherto in vain. The story is that
Thomas, while yet in the vigom* of life, con-
cealed a very large quantity of gold some-
where in the monastery. He was often
asked where it was, and always answered,
with a laugh: "Job, John, and Zechariah
will tell either you or your successors." He
sometimes added that he should feel no
grudge against those who might find it.
Among other works carried out by this Abbot
I may specially mention his filling the great
window at the east end of the south aisle of the
church with figures admirably painted on glass,
as his effigy and arms in the window attest.
He also restored almost the whole of the
Abbot's lodging, and dug a well in the court
of it, which he adorned with beautiful carvings
in marble. He died rather suddenly in the
seventy-second year of his age, a.d. 1529.*

The object which the antiquary had before
him at the moment was that of tracing the
whereabouts of the painted windows of the
Abbey Church of Steinfeld. Shortly after the

S8S GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUART

Revolution^ a very harge quantity of painted

glass had made its way from the disscdved

abbeys of Germany and Belgium to tfais

country, and may now be seen adorning various

of our parish churches, cathedrals, and private

chapels. Steinfeld Abbey was among the most

considerable of these involuntary contributors

to our artistic possessions (I am quoting the

somewhat ponderous preamble of the book

which the antiquary wrote), and the greater

part of the glass from that institution can be

identified without much difficulty by the help,

either of the numerous inscriptions in which

the place is mentioned, or of the subjects of the

windows, in which several well-defined cycles

or narratives were represented.

The passage with which I began my story
had set the antiquary on the track of another
identification. In a private chapel — no matter
where — he had seen three large figures, each
occupying a whole light in a window, and
evidently the work of one artist. Their style
made it plain that that artist had been a
German of the sixteenth century ; but hitherto

THE IHEASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 283

the more exact localizing of them had been a
puzzle. They represented — will you be sur-
prised to hear it ? — Job Patriarcha, Johannes
EvANGELTSTA, Zacharias Propheta, and each
of them held a book or scroll, inscribed with
a sentence from his writings. These, as a
matter of course, the antiquary had noted,
and had been struck by the curious way in
which they differed from any text of the
Vulgate that he had been able to examine.
Thus the scroll in Job's hand was inscribed:
* Auro est locus in quo absconditur ' (for * con-
flatur ')* ; on the book of John was : * Habent
in vestimentis suis scripturam quam nemo
novit't (for *in vestimento scriptum,' the
following words being taken from another
verse) ; and Zacharias had : * Super lapidem
unum septem oculi sunt '| (which alone of the
three presents an unaltered text).

A sad perplexity it had been to our investi-

♦ There is a place for gold where it is hidden.

+ They have on their raiment a writing which no
man knoweth.

I Upon one stone are seven eyes.

284 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

gator to think why these three personages
should have been placed together in one
window. There was no bond of connection
between them, either historic, symbolic, or
doctrinal, and he could only suppose that they
must have formed part of a very large series
of Prophets and Apostles, which might have
filled, say, all the clerestory windows of some
capacious church. But the passage from the
* Sertum ' had altered the situation by showing
that the names of the actual personages repre-
sented in the glass now in Lord D *s chapel

had been constantly on the lips of Abbot
Thomas von Eschenhausen of Steinfeld, and
that this Abbot had put up a painted widow,
probably about the year 1520, in the south
aisle of his abbey church. It was no very
wild conjecture that the three figures might
have formed part of Abbot Thomas's offering ;
it was one which, moreover, could probably be
confirmed or set aside by another carefiil
examination of the glass. And, as Mr. Somer-
ton was a man of leisure, he set out on pilgrim-
age to the private chapel with very little delay.

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 235

His conjecture was confirmed to the fiill. Not
only did the style and technique of the glass
suit perfectly with the date and place re-
quired, but in another window of the chapel
he found some glass, known to have been
bought along with the figures, which con-
tained the arms of Abbot Thomas von
Eschenhausen.

At intervals during his researches Mr.
Somerton had been haunted by the recollec-
tion of the gossip about the hidden treasure,
and, as he thought the matter over, it became
more and more obvious to him that if the
Abbot meant anything by the enigmatical
answer which he gave to his questioners, he
must have meant that the secret was to be
found somewhere in the window he had placed
in the abbey church. It was undeniable,
furthermore, that the first of the curiously-
selected texts on the scrolls in the window
might be taken to have a reference to hidden
treasure.

Every feature, therefore, or mark which
could possibly assist in elucidating the riddle

S86 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

which, he felt sure, the Abbot had set to
posterity he noted with scrupolous caie, and,
returning to his Berkshire manor-house, con-
sumed many a pint of the midnight oil over
his tracings and sketches. After two or three
weeks, a day came when Mr. Somerton an-
nounced to his man that he must pack his
own and his master's things for a short journey
abroad, whither for the moment we will not
follow him.

Mr. Gregory, the Rector of Parsbury, had
strolled out before breakfast, it being a fine
autumn morning, as far as the gate of his
carriage-drive, with intent to meet the post-
man and sniff the cool air. Nor was he
disappointed of either purpose. Before he
had had £ime to answer more than ten or
eleven of the miscellaneous questions pro-
pounded to him in the Ughtness of their hearts
by his young offspring, who had accompanied
him, the postman was seen approaching ; and

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 237

among the morning's budget was one letter
bearing a foreign postmark and stamp (which
became at once the objects of an eager com-
petition among the youthful Gr^orys), and
was addressed iii an uneducated, but plainly
an English hand.

When the Rector opened it, and tinned to
the signature, he realized that it came from
the confidential valet of his friend and squire,
Mr. Somerton. Thus it ran :

*HONOXJKD SiK,

^Has I am in a great anxeity about
Master I write at is Wish to Beg you Sir if
you could be so good as Step over. Master
Has add a Nastey Shock and keeps His Bedd.
I never Have known Him like this but No
wonder and Nothing wiU serve but you Sir.
Master says would I mintion the Short Way
Here is Drive to Cobblince and take a
Trap. Hopeing I Have maid all Plain, but
am much Confused in Myself what with
Anxiatey and Weakfiilness at Night. If I
might be so Bold Sir it will be a Pleasure to

288 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

see a Horniest Brish Face among all These

Forig ones.

* I am Sir

* Your obed* Serv*

* William Brown.

^P.S.— The Villiage for Town I will not
Turm. It is name Steenfeld.'

The reader must be left to picture to himself
in detaU the surprise, confusion and hurry of
preparation into which the receipt of such a
letter would be likely to plunge a quiet Berk-
shire parsonage in the year of grace 1859. It
is enough for me to say that a train to town
was caught in the course of the day, and that
Mr. Gregory was able to secure a cabin in the
Antwerp boat and a place in the Coblentz
train. Nor was it difficult to manage the
transit from that centre to Steinfeld.

I labour under a grave disadvantage as
narrator of this story in that I have never
visited Steinfeld myself, and that neither of
the principal actors m the episode (from whom
I derive my information) was able to give me

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 289

aii3rthing but a vague and rather dismal idea
of its appearance. I gather that it is a small
place, with a large church despoiled of its
ancient fittings ; a number of rather ruinous
great buildings, mostly of the seventeenth
century, surround this chiwch ; for the abbey,
in conmion with most of those on the Conti-
nent, was rebuilt in a luxurious fashion by its
inhabitants at that period. It has not seemed
to me worth while to lavish money on a visit
to the place, for though it is probably far more
attractive than either Mr. Somerton or Mr.
Gregory thought it, there is evidently little,
if anything, of first-rate interest to be seen —
except, perhaps, one thing, which I should not
care to see.

The inn where the EngUsh gentleman and
his servant were lodged is, or was, the only
* possible' one in the village. Mr. Gregory
was taken to it at once by his driver, and
found Mr. Brown waiting at the door. Mr.
Brown, a model when in his Berkshire home
of the impassive whiskered race who are
known as confidential valets, was now egre-

240 GHOST-STOREES OF AN ANTIQUARY

giously out of his element, in a light tweed
suit, anxious, almost irritable, and plainly any-
thing but master of the situation. His relief
at the sight of the ' honest British £Eice ' of his
Rector was unmeasured, but words to describe
it were denied him. He could only say :

* Well, I ham pleased, I'm siu^, sir, to see
you. And so I'm sure, sir, will master.'

* How is your master. Brown V Mr. Gregory
eagerly put in.

* I think he's better, sir, thank you ; but he's
had a dreadful tune of it. I 'ope he's gettin'
some sleep now, but '

*What has been the matter — I couldn't
make out from your letter ? Was it an acci-
dent of any kind V

' Well, sir, I 'ardly know whether I'd better
speak about it. Master was very partickler
he should be the one to tell you. But there's
no bones broke — that's one thing I'm sure we
ought to be thankful '

' What does the doctor say V asked Mr.
Gregory.

They were by this time outside Mr. Somer-

THE TKEASUBE OF ABBOT THOMAS 841

ton's bedroom door, and speaking in low tones.
Mr. Gr^ory, who happened to be in firont,
was feeling for the handle, and chanced to run
his fingers over the panels. Before Brown
could answer, there was a terrible cry firom
within the roonL

^ In Gkxl's name, who is that V were the first
words they heard. * Brown, is it V

* Yes, sir — ^me, sir, and Mr. Gregory,' Brown
hastened to answer, and there was an audible
groan of relief in reply.

They entered the room, which was darkened
against the afternoon sun, and Mr. Gregory
saw. with a shock of pity, how drawn, how
damp with drops of fear, was the usually calm
face of his fiiend, who, sitting up in the cur-
tained bed, stretched out a shaking hand to
welcome him.

* Better for seeing you, my dear Gregory,'
was the reply to the Hector's first question;
and it was palpably true.

After five minutes of conversation Mr.
Somerton was more his own man. Brown
afterwards reported, than he had been for

24f2 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

days. He was able to eat a more than respect-
able dinner, and talked confidently of being
fit to stand a journey to Coblentz within
twenty-four hours.

* But there's one thing,' he said, with a
return of agitation which Mr. Gregory did not
like to see, * which I must beg you to do for
me, my dear Gregory. Don't,' he went on,
laying his hand on Gregory's to forestall any
interruption — * don't ask me what it is, or why
I want it done. I'm not up to explaining it
yet ; it would throw me back — undo all the
good you have done me by coming. The only
word I will say about it is that you run no risk
whatever by doing it, and that Brown can and
will show you to-morrow what it is. It's

merely to put back — ^to keep — something

No ; 1 can't speak of it yet. Do you mind
calling Brown ?'

*Well, Somerton,' said Mr. Gregory, as he
crossed the room to the door, * I won't ask for
any explanations till you see fit to give them.
And if this bit of business is as easy as you
represent it to be, I will very gladly under-

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 243

take it for you the first thing m the morn-
ing/

* Ah, I was sure you would, my dear Gregory ;
I was certain I could rely on you. I shall
owe you more thanks than I can tell. Now,
here is Brown. Brown, one word with you.'

* Shall I go V interjected Mr. Gregory.

* Not at all. Dear me, no. Brown, the
first thing to-morrow morning— (you don't
mind early hours, I know, Gregory) — you
must take the Rector to — there, you know'
(a nod jfrom Brown, who looked grave and
anxious), * and he and you will put that back.
You needn't be in the least alarmed ; it's per-
fectly safe in the daytime. You know what I
mean. It lies on the step, you know, where
— ^where we put it.' (Brown swallowed dryly
once or twice, and, failing to speak, bowed.)
*And — yes, that's all. Only this one other
word, my dear Gregory. If you can manage
to keep jfrom questioning Brown about this
matter, I shall be still more bound to you.
To-morrow evening, at latest, if all goes well,
I shall be able, I believe, to tell you the whole

16—2

9*4 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUABY

st<»y from start to finish. And now 111 wi^
you good-night. Brown will be with me — he
sleeps here — and if I were you, I should lock
my door. Yes, be particular to do that.
They — they like it, the people here, and
better. Good-night, good-night.'

ITiey parted upon this, and if Mr. Gregory
woke once or twice in the small hours and
fancied he heard a fumbling about the lower
part of his locked door, it was, perhaps, no
more than what a quiet man, suddenly plunged
into a strange bed and the heart of a mystery,
might reasonably expect. Certainly he thought,
to the end of his days, that he had heard such
a sound twice or three times between midnight
and dawn.

He was up with the sun, and out in ci
pany with Brown soon after. Perplexing as
was the service he had been asked to perform
for Mr. Somerton, it was not a difficult or
alarming one, and within half an hour
his leaving the inn it was over. What it
I shall not as yet divulge.

Later in the morning Mr. Somerton,

THE TBEASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 246

almost himself again, was able to make a start
from Steinfeld; and that same evenmg, whether
at Coblentz or at some intermediate stage on
the journey I am not certain, he settled down
to the promised explanation. Brown was
present, but how much of the matter was
ever really made plain to his comprehension
he would never say, and I am unable to
conjecture.

III.

This was Mr. Somerton's story :

* You know roughly, both of you, that this
expedition of mine was undertaken with the
object of tracing something in connection

with some old painted glass in Lord D 's

private chapeL Well, the staxting-point of
the whole matter lies in this passage from an
old printed book, to which I will ask your
attention.'

And at this point Mr. Somerton went care-
fully over some ground with which we are
already familiar.

S46' GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQrAHT

* On my second visit to the chapel,' he went
on, *my purpose was to take every note I
could of figures, lettering, diamond-scratchings
on the glass, and even apparently accidental
markings. The first point which I tackled was
that of the inscribed scrolls. I could not
doubt that the first of these, that of Job —
" There is a place for the gold where it is
hidden" — with its intentional alteration, must
refer to the treasure ; so I applied myself with
some confidence to the next, that of St. John —
" They have on their vestures a writing which
no man knoweth." The natural question will
have occurred to you ; Was there an inscrip-
tion on the robes of the figures ? I could see
none ; each of the three had a broad black
border to his mantle, which made a con-
spicuous and rather ugly feature in the
window. I was nonplussed, I will own, and
but for a curious bit of luck I think I should
have left the search where the Canons of Stein-
feld had left it before me. But it so happened
that there was a good deal of dust on the sur-
face of the glass, and Lord D , happening

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 247

to come in, noticed my blackened hands, and
kindly insisted on sending for a Turk's head
broom to clean down the window. There
must, I suppose, have been a rough piece in
the broom ; anyhow, as it passed over the
border of one of the mantles, I noticed that
it left a long scratch, and that some yellow
stain instantly showed up. I asked the man
to stop his work for a moment, and ran up the
ladder to examine the place. The yellow stain
was there, sure enough, and what had come
away was a thick black pigment, which had
evidently been laid on with the brush after
the glass had been burnt, and could therefore
be easily scraped off without doing any harm.
I scraped, accordingly, and you will hardly
believe — ^no, I do you an injustice ; you will
have guessed abeady — that I found under this
black pigment two or three clearly -formed
capital letters in yellow stain on a clear
ground. Of course, I could hardly contain
my delight.

* I told Lord D that I had detected

an inscription which I thought might be very

948 GHOST-STOBIES OF AN ANTIQUABY

interesting, and bagged to be jflowed to un-
cover the whole of iL He made no difficulty
about it whatever, told me to do exadfy as I
pleased, and then, having an engagement, was
obliged — ^rather to my relief I must say — to
leave me. I set to work at mice, and found
the task a fiiirly easy one. The pigment,
disintegrated, of coiurse, by time, came ofif
almost at a touch, and I don't think that it
took me a couple of hours, all told, to clean
the whole of the black borders in all three
lights. Each of the figures had, as the in-
scription said, ^^a writing on their vestures
which nobody knew."

* This discovery, of course, made it abso-
lutely certain to my mind that I was on the
right track. And, now, what was the inscrip-
tion? While I was cleaning the glass I
almost took pains not to read the lettering,
saving up the treat until I had got the whole
thing clear. And when that was done, my
dear Gregory, 1 assure you I could almost
have cried from sheer disappointment. What
I read was only the most hopeless jumble of

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 249

letters that was ever shaken up in a hat.
Here it is :

Job. DREVICIOPEDMOOM8MVIVUSLO

AVIBA8BATAOVT

St. John. RDIIEAMRLESIPV8PODSEEIRSET

TAAESGIAVNNR

Zechariah. FTEEAILNQDPVAIVMTLEEATTOH

iOONVMCAAT.H.Q.E.

* Blank as I felt and must have looked for
the first few minutes, my disappointment
didn't last long. I realized almost at once
that I was dealing with a cipher or crypto-
gram ; and I reflected that it was likely to be
of a pretty simple- kind, considering its early
date. So I copied the letters with the most
anxious care. Another little point, I may tell
you, turned up in the process which confirmed
my belief in L cipher. After copying the
letters on Job's robe I counted them, to make
sure that I had them right There were
thirty-eight ; and, just as I finished going
through them, my eye fell on a scratching
made with a sharp point on the edge of the
border. It was simply the number xxxviii

250 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

in Roman numerals. To cut the matter
short, there was a sunilar note, as I may
call it, in each of the other lights ; and that
made it plain to me that the glass-painter
had had very strict orders jfrom Abbot Thomas
about the inscription, and had taken pains to
get it correct.

* Well, after that discovery you may imagine
how minutely I went over the whole surface
of the glass in search of further light. Of
course, I did not neglect the inscription on the
scroll of Zechariah — " Upon one stone are seven
eyes," but I very quickly concluded that this
must refer to some mark on a stone which
could only be found in situ^ where the treasure
was concealed. To be short, I made all pos-
sible notes and sketches and tracings, and
then came back to Parsbury to work out the
cipher at leisure. Oh, the agonies I went
through ! I thought myself very clever at
first, for I made sure that the key would be
found in some of the old books on secret writing.
The " Steganographia'' of Joachim Trithemius,
who was an earlier contemporary of Abbot

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 251

Thomas, seemed particularly promising ; so I
got that, and Selenius's " Cryptographia *' and
Bacon " de Augmentis ScientiaruMy' and some
more. But I could hit upon nothing. Then
I tried the principle of the "most jfrequent
letter," taking first Latin and then German as
a basis. That didn't help, either ; whether it
ought to have done so, I am not clear. And
then I came back to the window itself, and
read over my notes, hoping almost against
hope that the Abbot might himself have some-
where supplied the key I wanted. I could
make nothing out of the colour or pattern of
the robes. There were no landscape back-
grounds with subsidiary objects ; there was
nothing in the canopies. The only resource
possible seemed to be in the attitudes of the
figures. " Job," I read : " scroll in left hand,
forefinger of left hand extended upwards.
John : holds inscribed book in left hand ; with
right hand blesses, with two fingers. Zechariah :
scroU in left hand ; right hand extended
upwards, as Job, but with three fingers point-
ing up." In other words, 1 [reflected. Job has

252 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY'

one finger extended, John has trvo, Zechariah
has three. May not there be a numeral key
concealed in that ? My dear Gregory,' said
Mr. Somerton, laying his hand on his friend's
knee, ' that was the key. I didn't get it to fit
at first, but after two or three trials I saw what
was meant. After the first letter of the in-
scription you skip one letter, aft^r the next you
skip tzto, and after that skip three. Now 1
at the result I got. I've underlined the let!
which form words :

DR E VI C I O PE DM OOMSMV|VLISLCAyiBA^
BATAOVT

RDnEAMRLESIPVSPqDSEEI_RSETTAAEa
GIAVNNR

FTEEAJ^LNQDPVAiyMTLEEATTQHI^OONV
MCAAT.H.Q.E.

' Do you see it ? " Decern nulUa
reposita sunt in piiteo in at . . ." (Ten
thousand [pieces] of gold are laid up in a well
in . . .), followed by an incomplete word begin-
ning at. So far so good. I tried the same plan.

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 868

with the remaining letters ; but it wouldn't
work, and I fsuicied that perhaps the plaemg of
dots after the three last letters might mdicate
some difference of procedure. Then I thought
to myself, " Wasn't there some allusion to a
well m the account of Abbot Thomas in that
book the * iSferti^m ' "? Yes, there was : he built
a puteus in atrio (a well in the court). There,
of course, was my word atrio. The next step
was to copy out the remaining letters of the
inscription, omitting those I had already used.
That gave what you will see on this slip :

RVII0PD008M WI8CAVB8BTAOTD I EAML8IV
8PDEER8ETAEQ I ANRFE EALQ DVAI MLEATTH
OOVMCA.H.Q.E.

* Now, I knew what the three first letters I
wanted were — ^namely, rio — ^to complete the
word atrio; and, as you wUl see, these are all to
be found in the first five letters. I was a little
confused at first by the occurrence of two T*,
but very soon I saw that every alternate letter
must be taken in the remainder of the inscrip-
tion. You can work it out for yourself; the

254 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

result, continuing where the first " round " left
off, is this :

^' rio domus abbatialis de Steinfeld a me, Thoma, qui
posui custodem fiuper ea. Gare a qui la touche.^

' So the whole secret was out :

^^ Ten thousand pieces of gold are laid up in the well
in the court of the Abbofs house of Steinfeld by me,
Thomas, who have set a guardian over them, Gare a
qui la touche.'^

' The last words, I ought to say, are a
device which Abbot Thomas had adopted. I
found it with his arms in another piece of

glass at Lord D 's, and he drafted it bodily

into his cipher, though it doesn't quite fit in
point of grammar.

' Well, what would any human being have
been tempted to do, my dear Gregory, in my
place ? Could he have helped setting ofi*, as I
did, to Steinfeld, and tracing the secret literally
to the fountain-head? I don't believe he
could. Anyhow, I couldn't, and, as I needn't
tell you, I found myself at Steinfeld as soon
as the resources of civilization could put me

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 265

there, and installed myself in the inn you saw.
I must tell you that I was not altogether jfree
from forebodings — on one hand of disappoint-
ment, on the other of danger. There was
always the possibility that Abbot Thomas's
well might have been wholly obliterated, or
else that someone, ignorant of cryptograms,
and guided only by luck, might have stumbled
on the treasure before me. And then ' — there
was a very perceptible shaking of the voice
here — *I was not entirely easy, I need not
mind confessing, as to the meaning of the
words about the guardian of the treasure.
But, if you don't mind, I'll say no more about
that until — until it becomes necessary.

* At the first possible opportunity Brown and
I began exploring the place. I had naturally
represented myself as being interested in the
remains of the abbey, and we could not avoid
pajdng a visit to the church, impatient as I
was to be elsewhere. Still, it did interest me
to see the windows where the glass had been,
and especially that at the east end of the south
aisle. In the tracery lights of that I was

S66 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

startled to see some fragments and coats-of-
arms remaining — Abbot Thomas's shield was
there, and a small figure with a scroll inscribed
" Oculos habent, et non videbunt " (They have
eyes, and shall not see), which, I take it, was a
hit of the Abbot at his Canons.

' But, of course, the principal object was to
find the Abbot's house. There is no prescribed
place for this, so far as I know, in the plan of
a monastery ; you can't predict of it, as you can
of the chapter-house, that it will be on the
eastern side of the cloister, or, as of
dormitory, that it will communicate with
transept of the church. I felt that
asked many questions I might a.\
Ihigering memories of the treasure, and
thought it best to try first to discover it for
myself. It was not a very long or difficult
search. That tliree-sided court south-east of
the church, with deserted piles of building
round it, and grass-grown pavement, which you
saw this morning, was the place. And glad
enough I was to see that it was put to no use,
and was neither very far from our inn nor over-

1 the I
' the I
ith a J

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 267

looked by any inhabited building ; there were
only orchards and paddocks on the slopes
east of the church. I can teU you that
fine stone glowed wonderfuUy in the rather
watery yellow sunset that we had on the
Tuesday afternoon.

* Next, what about the weU ? There was not
much doubt about that, as you can testify. It
is really a very remarkable thing. That curb
is, I think, of Italian marble, and the carving
I thought must be Italian also. There were
reliefs, you will perhaps remember, of Eliezer
and Bebekah, and of Jacob opening the well
for Rachel, and similar subjects ; but, by way
of disarming suspicion, I suppose, the Abbot
had carefully abstained from any of his cynical
and allusive inscriptions.

*I examined the whole structure with the
keenest interest, of course — a square well-head
with an opening in one side ; an arch over it,
with a wheel for the rope to pass over, evi-
dently in very good condition still, for it had
been used within sixty years, or perhaps even
later, though not quite recently. Then there

4fi8 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARfl

was the question of depth and access to liie
interior. I suppose the depth was about six^
to seventy feet ; and as to the other point, it
really seemed as if the Abbot had wished to lead
searchers up to the very door of his treasure-
house, for, as you tested for yourself, there
were big blocks of stone bonded into the
masonry, and leading down in a regular
staircase round and round the inside of
well.

* It seemed almost too good to be trui
wondered if there was a trap — if the stones
were so contrived as to tip over when a weight
was placed on them ; but I tried a good many
with my own weight and with my stick, and
all seemed, and actually were, perfectly
firm. Of course, I resolved that Brown and
1 would make an experiment that very
night.

* I was well prepared. Knowing the sort of
place I should have to explore, I had brought
a sufficiency of good rope and bands of web-
bing to surround my body, and crossbars to
hold to, as well as lanterns and candles and

guiar

THE TBEASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 269

crowbars, all of which would go into a single
carpet-bag and excite no suspicion. I satis-
fied myself that my rope would be long
enough, and that the wheel for the bucket
was in good working order, and then we went
home to dinner.

* I had a little cautious conversation with
the landlord, and made out that he would not
be overmuch surprised if I went out for a stroll
with my man about nine o'clock, to make
(Heaven forgive me 1) a sketch of the abbey
by moonlight. I asked no questions about the
well, and am not likely to do so now. I fancy
I know as much about it as anyone in Stein-
feld : at least ' — with a strong shudder — * I
don't want to know any more.

* Now we come to the crisis, and, though I
hate to think of it, I feel sure, Gregory, that it
will be better for me in all ways to recall it
just as it happened. We started. Brown and
I, at about nine with our bag, and attracted no
attention ; for we managed to slip out at the
hinder end of the inn-yard into an alley which
brought us quite to the edge of the village.

17—2

980 GHOST^TOKIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

In five minutes we were at the well, and for
some little time we sat on the edge of the well-
head to make sure that no one was stirring or
spying on us. All we heard was some horses
cropping grass out of sight further down the
eastern slope. We were perfectly unobserved,
and had plenty of light from the gorgeous fiiU
moon to allow us to get the rope properly
fitted over the wheel. Then I secured the
band round my body beneath the arms. We
attached the end of the rope very securely |
a ring in the stonework. Brown took i
lighted lantern and followed me ; I hat
crowbar. And so we began to descend
cautiously, feeling every step before we set
foot on it, and scanning the walls in search
any marked stone.

' Half aloud I counted the steps as we won
down, and we got as far as the thirty-eighth
before I noted anything at all irregular in the
surface of the masonry. Even here there was
no mark, and I began to feel very blank, and
to wonder if the Abbot's cryptogram could
possibly be an elaborate hoax. At the forty-

rely^^^^

hai^^

■ascend
e set I
rch^H

WCT^^

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 261

ninth step the staircase ceased. It was with
a very sinking heart that I began retracing
my steps, and when I was back on the^thirty-
eighth— Brown, with the lantern, being a step
or two above me — I scrutinized the little bit
of irregularity in the stonework with all my
might ; but there was no vestige of a
mark.

* Then it struck me that the texture of the
surface looked just a little smoother than the
rest, or, at least, in some way different. It
might possibly be cement and not stone. I
gave it a good blow with my iron bar. There
was a decidedly hollow sound, though that
might be the result of our being in a welL
But there was more. A great flake of cement
dropped on to my feet, and I saw marks on
the stone underneath. I had tracked the
Abbot down, my dear Gregory; even now
I think of it with a certain pride. It took
but a very few more taps to clear the whole
of the cement away, and I saw a slab of stone
about two feet square, upon which was en-
graven a cross. Disappointment again, but

5262 GHOST-STORIES OP AN ANTIQUARY

only for a moment. It was you. Brown, who
reassured me by a casual remark. You said,
if I remember right :

It's a fimny cross; looks like a lot of
eyes.

* I snatched the lantern out of your hand,
and saw with inexpressible pleasure that the
cross was composed of seven eyes, four in'
a vertical line, three horizontal. The last of
the scrolls in the window was explained in the
way I had anticipated. Here was my " stone
with the seven eyes." So far the Abbot's data
had been exact, and, as I thought of this, the
anxiety about the " guardian " returned upon
me with increased force. Still, I wasn't going
to retreat now.

* Without giving myself time to think, I
knocked away the cement all round the
marked stone, and then gave it a prise on the
right side with my crowbar. It moved at
once, and I saw that it was but a thin
light slab, such as I could easily lift out
myself, and that it stopped the entrance to a
cavity. I did lift it out unbroken, and set it

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 26S

on the step, for it might be very important
to us to be able to replace it. Then I waited
for several minutes on the step just above.
I don't know why, but I think to see if any
dread&l thing would rush out. Nothing
happened. Next I lit a candle, and very
cautiously I placed it inside the cavity, with
some idea of seeing whether there were foul
air, and of getting a glimpse of what was
inside. There was some foulness of air which
nearly extinguished the flame, but in no long
time it burned quite steadily. The hole went
some little way back, and also on the right
and left of the entrance, and I could see some
rounded light-coloured objects within which
might be bags. There was no use in waiting.
I faced the cavity, and looked in. There was
nothing immediately in the front of the hole.
I put my arm in and felt to the right, very
gingerly. . . .

* Just give me a glass of cognac. Brown.
Ill go on in a moment, Gregory. . . .

* Well, I felt to the right, and my fingers
touched something curved, that felt — yes —

aM GHOST.«TOBI£S OF AN ANTEQUABY

mare or less like leather ; dampish it was, and
evidently part of a heavy, full thing. Theie
was nothing, I must say, to alarm one. I
grew bolder, and putting both hands in as
weU as I could, I pulled it to me, and it
came. It was heavy, but moved more easily
than I had expected. As I pulled it towards
the entrance, my left elbow knocked over
and extinguished the candle. I got the thing
feirly in front of the mouth and began draw-
ing it out. Just then Brown gave a sharp
ejaculation and ran quickly up the steps with
the lantern. He will teU you why in a
moment. Startled as I was, I looked roimd
after him, and saw him stand for a minute
at the top and then walk away a few yards.
Then I heard him call softly, " AU right, sir,"
and went on pulling out the great bag, in
complete darkness. It hung for an instant
on the edge of the hole, then slipped forward
on to my chest, and put its arms round my
neck.

*My dear Gregory, I am telling you the
exact truth. I believe I am now acquainted with

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 266

the extremity of terror and repulsion which
a man can endure without losing his mind. I
can only just manage to tell you now the
bare outline of the experience. I was con-
scious of a most horrible smell of mould, and
of a cold kind of face pressed against my own,
and moving slowly over it, and of several —
I don't know how many — legs or arms or
tentacles or something clinging to my body. I
screamed out. Brown says, like a beast, and
fell away backward from the step on which
I stood, and the creature slipped downwards,
I suppose, on to that same step. Providen-
tially the band round me held firm. Brown
did not lose his head, and was strong
enough to pull me up to the top and get
me over the edge quite promptly. How he
managed it exactly I don't know, and I think
he would find it hard to tell you. I believe
he contrived to hide our implements in the
deserted building near by, and with very great
difficulty he got me back to the inn. I was
in no state to make explanations, and Brown
knows no German ; but next morning I told

266 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY!

the people s

! tale of ha\-ing had a bad fall

; some t

in tlie abbey ruins, which, I suppose, they
beUeved. And now, before I go forther, I
should just like you to hear what Brown's
experiences during those few minutes were.
Tell the Rector, Brown, what you told
me.'

' Well, sir,' said Brown, speaking low and
nervously, ' it was just this way. Master was
busy down in front of the 'ole, and I was
'olding the lantern and looking on, when I
'card somethink drop in the water from the
top, as I thought. So I looked up, and I see
someone's 'ead lookin' over at us. I s'pose I
must ha' said somethink, and I 'eld the light up
and run up the steps, and my light shone right
on the face. That was a bad un, sir, if ever
T see one ! A holdish man, and the face very
much fell in, and lariin, as I thought. And
I got up the steps as quick pretty nigh as I'm
tellin' you, and when I was out on the ground
there wam't a sign of any person. There
'adn't been the time for anyone to get away,
let alone a hold chap, and I made sure he

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 267

wam't crouching down by the well, nor
nothink. Next thinfi; I hear master cry out
somethhi 'orrible. L haUI see wJ him
hanging out by the rope, and, as master says,
*owever I got him up I couldn't tell you/

* You hear that, Gregory V said Mr. Somer-
ton. *Now, does any explanation of that
incident strike you V

' The whole thing is so ghastly and abnormal
that I must own it puts me quite off my
balance; but the thought did occur to me
that possibly the — ^weU, the person who set
the trap might have come to see the success
of his plan.'

' Just so, Gregory, just so. 1 can think of
nothing else so — likely ^ I should say, if such a
word had a place anywhere in my story. I
think it must have been the Abbot. . . .
Well, I haven't much more to teU you. I
spent a miserable night. Brown sitting up with
me. Next day I was no better ; unable to get
up ; no doctor to be had ; and, if one had been
available, I doubt if he could have done much
for me. I made Brown write off to you, and

368 GHOST-STOREES OF AN ANTIQUARY^

Spent a second terrible night. And, Gregory,
of this I am sure, and I think it affected me
more than the first shock, for it lasted longer :
there was someone or something on the watch
outside my door the whole night. I almost
fency tliere were two. It wasn't only the
faint noises I heard from time to time all
through the dark hours, but there was the
smeU — the hideous smell of mould. Every
rag I had had on me on that first evening I had
stripped off and made Brown take it away, I
beUeve he stuffed the things into the stove in
his room ; and yet the smell was there, as in-
tense as it had been in the well ; and, what is
more, it came from outside the door. But
with the first glimmer of dawn it faded out,
and the sounds ceased, too ; and that convinced
me that the thing or things were creatures of
darkness, and could not stand the daylight !
and so I was sure that if anyone could put
back the stone, it or they would be power- ■
less until someone else took it away again.
I had to wait until you came to get that done.
Of course, I couldn't send Brown to do it by

THE TREASURE OF ABBOT THOMAS 269

himself, and still less could I tell anyone
who belonged to the place.

* Well, there is my story ; and, if you don't
believe it, I can't help it. But I think you
do.'

* Indeed,' said Mr. Gregory, * I can find no
alternative. I must believe it I I saw the
well and the stone myself, and had a glimpse,
I thought, of the bags or something else in the
hole. And, to be plain with you, Somerton,
I believe my door was watched last night,
too.'

*I dare say it was, Gregory; but, thank
goodness, that is over. Have you, by the
way, anything to tell about your visit to that
dreadful place ?'

' Very little,' was the answer. * Brown and
I managed easily enough to get the slab into
its place, and he fixed it very firmly with the
u-ons and wedges you had desired him to get,
and we contrived to smeax the surface with
mud so that it looks just like the rest of the
wall. One thing I did notice in the carving on
the well-head, which I think must have escaped

270 GHOST-STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY

you. It was a horrid, grotesque shape — ^per-
haps more like a toad than anj^thing else, and
there was a label by it inscribed with the two
words, " Depositum custodL" '*

* ^ Keep that which is committed to thee.^

THE END

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